Eight Words: The Story of Veil
by TaheenKiller19
Summary: What if Veil had survived? This tale of a ferret's redemption takes place about 6 seasons after The Outcast of Redwall. Please R&R.
1. Prologue

"_Bryony, get out of 'ere, run!"_

_He smashed his father in the face as hard as he could, desperately trying to buy her time, trying to let her get away. He didn't care about the massive badger Swartt had tied up, he didn't care about dying…_

_He didn't even care about revenge against Redwall Abbey. His one thought was to save her, the mousemaid who had always given him everything, and always received nothing in return._

_Swartt had leaped on him, javelin in hand. Veil tried to parry his thrusts with a small knife he had found, but with each slash of the spear Swartt held, he realized this would be the last stand of Veil Sixclaw._

_The Poisoner, they had called him, that day when he had been cast out, with tears in his eyes and his paws blood-red. Did that matter anymore? If Bryony survived and returned to the Abbey, would they ever tell tales about him around the fire in Cavern Hole? Would they ever think about him as good in the end?_

No,_ thought Veil. _None of them would forgive me. They were innocent and pure, and I tried to kill their innocence.

_Swartt thrust again, nicking his ear as he did so. _This is it,_ he thought, as Swartt drove the small knife from his hands. The whole camp had dissolved into chaos, all were running willy-nilly, he couldn't see Bryony anymore…_

_He felt the cold shock of pain as Swartt's javelin went through his chest, just below his ribs._

_The world seemed to stand still. The wound wasn't fatal, but all the strength seemed to run out of Veil with the blood that was now pooling on the ground and building up in his throat._

_Swartt drew in close. With a sadistic leer in his eye, he whispered eight words in Veil's ear._

"_The mouse? We'll take her niiice and slow!"_

_Tears sprang to Veil's eyes as he realized it had all failed. And as he stood dying, a memory rose to his tired mind._

_He was a small Dibbun, just barely able to walk, and was with Bella, the old badgermum, and a young squirrel Dibbun named Firetail, whom he had bullied constantly. He had just taken Firetail's last apple, and Bella had not seen._

"_Mother Bellaaaaa!! Veil took my apple!"_

_Bella had turned around, amused. "So, Firetail, what are you going to do?"_

_At that moment, a change came over the young squirrel. A glint had come into his eye, and without another word, he leaped up, punched Veil in the eye, and relieved him of the apple._

_The memory returned to Veil as he stood on the top of Duskskin's mountain. _He's going to torture Bryony, Veil,_ he told himself. _What are you going to do?

What are you going to do, Veil?

With the last of his strength, he pulled the spear from his middle. Before the astounded eyes of his father, he broke the point of the javelin, and plunged it into his father's throat.

Swartt gurgled, smiling to the end. "You think it's over now, son?"

Veil gasped for breath. "It is now, dad."

Swartt grinned all the more. "Oh, no it's not. You see? Now you're a murderer, son, and you never just kill once. Oh, no. You'll always be a killer now, they'll never take you back. You'll slash and stab all the way to Dark Forest."

And with that, Swartt Sixclaw had died. Veil stared at his grinning corpse a moment longer, and then collapsed.

He woke with Bryony looking over him. Without another word, she had flung herself on him.

"Oh Veil, Veil, I knew you weren't evil, I knew you'd see! Now we can go back!"

"Go back?" said Veil weakly.

"To Redwall, silly! I'll tell them all about how good you were and –"

"I can't go back, Bryony."

Bryony looked up, stunned. "What?"

"I've made my first real kill, Bry. You think they'd take me back now?"

"But Veil, you just –"

"Bry, you would know better than anyone. You gave me every chance, and I always let you down. I was cast out because I let you all down."

"Veil, please."

"You see my paws, Bry? They're red because I couldn't just lead a life that was as good as the others. I can't go back."

With tears in her eyes, Bryony of Redwall realized just how hopeless it had all been. And how right Veil was.

"I'm so sorry, Veil."

"So am I. I wish I could go back, I wish I could lead that life, but…"

"Veil, what will I tell them?"

"Tell them Veil Sixclaw died as horribly as he had lived, with one act of goodness to his name."

And she had left with Togget, saying one very long, hard goodbye, and leaving Veil with an emptiness in his heart where the desire for revenge had been.

And Veil had sat there a while longer, atop the mountain, and even after Sunflash and Sabretache had left later in the day with the others, he still sat there, wondering what to do with what was left of his life…


	2. A Day, like Any Other

He woke the way he always did, without any sort of yawn or drowsiness. His light blue eyes simply opened, he took a moment to brush the sleep out of his eyes, and he rose, sifting through his pact to assemble a meager breakfast of near-stale bread and one small apple. He had one piece of dried fish left, and after he started a fire, he proceeded to toast it. He had found that it countered the taste of the dry fish very nicely.

He huddled closer into his worn, patched cloak, taking a moment to review his current situation as it was. He had little food, and almost no water, which was a death sentence out here in the Southlands. He had a new scar on his left paw from a tussle with a series of highway rats two days previous to now.

Ah, that paw! That malformed paw, with its six claws, always there to remind him of what he was: the son of a warlord, a murderer to boot. And, indeed, he himself had become just as much of a murderer himself. But where his father's way had been the way of the sword, he himself had opted to use nightshade, not even brave enough to give his victim a real chance.

Otherwise, there was not much to comment about the still-young ferret. His tunic and his cloak were both almost worn through in places, but still thick enough in most places. He was now tall and muscular, and, though he was too much of a self-loathing type to admit it, he was still what might be called "cute". His fur was black and white, which had been dulled of late from malnutrition. His shirt, ripped in places, showed the remnants of scars of old, souvenirs of his tireless trek to nowhere.

Apart from the weatherbeaten clothes he wore, he carried but two things: The haversack of food, and the enormous battleaxe slung across his back. Ah, that axe…

_Sunflash sat across the fire from Veil. The massive badger, still aching from his wounds, now seemed interested in Veil. The small ferret didn't look at the Lord of Salamandastron, preferring to stare only into the flames_.

_After what seemed like an eternity, Sunflash spoke._

"_What you did today was more important than you might think, Veil."_

_Veil still refused to look at him. "But he was right."_

_The yellow ridge of fur flickered in the light. "Who?"_

_Veil answered dully. "My father."_

_Sunflash's voice picked up a dangerous edge to it. "That monster was no more of a father to you than I am – less, even. He tried to kill you, and every one of your friends. Don't even think –"_

"_He told me what I was, Sunflash. I'm a killer now, just one more assassin in –"_

"_You killed only because you had to, Veil!"_

"_Tell that to Friar Bunfold."_

"_Even that could be one day forgiven, Veil –"_

"_There's more. Even then, that wouldn't feel right. It's like there's something I must do first. Do you understand?"_

_Sunflash fell silent; he did understand. He had felt that feeling every time he had considered settling down at the Lingle-Dubbo cave, or thought about staying at Salamandastron. There had always been that urge to follow something, somewhere. _

"_I will return to Redwall one day when my task, whatever it is, is done."_

_Sunflash suddenly realized how similar he had once been to Veil. He could remember his first few minutes of freedom from Swartt, having nowhere to go, not knowing what to do next, and not even having a name._

"_Then the least I can do for you, Veil, is to help you on your way."_

_With that he had picked up a large axe, and handed it to Veil, who took it eagerly._

"_This was once a badger's axe, once belonging to my grandfather, Boar the Fighter. It was written within Salamandastron that one day I would pass it on to another."_

_Veil examined it keenly. The double blade was beautifully polished, with an edge as keen as any Veil had seen. The shaft had been shortened, with a black leather strap wrapped around the hilt. The shaft itself was tough mahogany, which Veil knew would never break in his lifetime._

_Sunflash the Mace rose, and before setting out with Sabretache, had turned to the young warrior. He said but eight words._

"_May you one day find peace, Veil Sixclaw!"_

The blade was now scratched in many places, yet just as keen. The shaft held the nicks and cuts of any weapon used in war. But the blade of the axe he had named Perdition still had the feel of a real weapon in a real warrior's paws.

_And what paws,_ he thought sullenly.

His paws were as red as they had been the day he was cast out. He had once told all present that they were red for the blood of the Abbeydwellers he would one day spill. Now he saw them for what they were: the blood of his innocence, the blood of his own goodness in life, which he had shed time and time again.

He wasn't usually this thoughtful in the morning, which kind of scared him. He put out his fire, slung his bag and his axe over his back, and walked further south.

Later that day, he ran out of water. He had remembered the old method of sucking a stone, but there were very few suitable stones in this desert. As such, he could only walk further and further, hoping to find, perhaps, and oasis, or maybe just a stream. Or hell, just a pool. But there was none.

He fell onto the dusty sand with a muffled thud. Unable to move, he could only stare up at the sun, which blinded him. He closed his eyes, and waited to die.

_Was it really so long ago that I snuck down into the cellars and got smashed on a whole cask of elderberry?_ He thought. Despite his situation, he smiled to himself as he remembered the incident. He had told Bral Hogmorton, the Cellarkeeper of the time, that Abbess Meriam had wanted to talk to him, and then proceeded to take a small cask of elderberry wine from the cellar, meeting up with Firetail, who had since become his partner in crime, and the two had spent the afternoon outside of the Abbey, slurping the fruity mixture with relish.

After they were both unable to see farther than two feet, and Firetail had thrown up for the second time, they had both collapsed into a fit of drunken giggles.

"I can't believe they enjoy doing this!" Firetail had stuttered (It had come out more like "Igand believe dey ejoy diss", but he was still understandable).

"It's not really all that bad, I think," he had replied (This came out "'s norrelly alat bad I thing"), and then he also threw up.

They had been reprimanded the next day, and the situation had been significantly worsened by the splitting headache he had had at the time. Firetail had been let off considerably lighter, but still burdened with punishment anyway…

Despite the fact he was lying face-up in the desert, dying rapidly of thirst, he laughed harder than he had in about a season.

After he was finished giggling until the tears had run from his eyes, he passed out, snoring gently.

He was awakened by the feeling of water against his face. Some of it went into his mouth and nose, causing him to cough and sneeze at the same time. Someone was standing over him, temporarily blocking the direct sunlight. He woozily looked up.

"Worra hell…whozat…uhhh…" His eyes widened. "Hello!"

Standing over him was easily the most beautiful ferret (_Heck, most beautiful…anything, _he thought brightly). Her fur was a lustrous mix of soft cream-colored silkiness and gloriously bright auburn. Her eyes were beautiful in their color, a rich emerald, but they also spoke of an inherent tenderness within. Her face was slender and kissable (_if kissable's even a word, _he thought to himself).

She helped him up. "You were laughing pretty hard there, considering you were dying. You're really lucky I heard! What was so funny?"

"Getting drunk," came the dazed reply.

She laughed, a lovely tinkly sort of sound. "My name's Mystfur of Middledune."

"Veil Sixclaw." He smiled at her, and then passed out on her shoulder, allowing the soft warmth to engulf him as he began to dream.


	3. Middledune

For once in his life, Veil woke with the feeling of not wanting to get up. For some reason, he was significantly cozier than he had ever been before.

He arched his back and yawned. As he examined his surroundings, he saw the cause of his comfort. The bed he was sleeping on was a real bed, with a soft blanket and a feather pillow, a luxury he hadn't experienced since he had been in Southsward. The memory caused him to smile. He had been present for the birth of Prince Gael, and the feast that had taken place at Castle Floret was still something fresh in Veil's mind.

His stomach growled, and the young ferret realized just how hungry he was. Assuming it had been yesterday that the ferret had been found by (_was it Mystwing? Mysteye? Something like that,_ he thought), his last meal, an apple and a mouthful of fish, had been almost two days ago.

He got up, and looked around. He was in a simple dwelling, a wooden hut with a thatched roof, but the room was somehow homier than could be described. It had a small fireplace, and a number of books on a shelf by the window. There were two ornate wooden chairs in the room.

As he got up, he noticed two things almost immediately. One, his worn-out, scratchy cloak was missing; he was now wearing a silken robe in its place. Two, Perdition, his axe, was nowhere to be found.

He went to the door, only to find it was locked. He banged on it, but no answer came.

_Okay,_ thought Veil. _There's always the direct approach._

He walked to the back of the room, away from the door. He prepared to ram the door. After pacing himself, he ran at full speed, his shoulder pointed towards the target.

It was of course at that moment that Mystfur chose to open the door.

Veil was moving way too fast to stop, or even slow down, but he did move his shoulder out of ramming position. The result was that he knocked her over, landing on top of her just a second later, winding them both.

There was an embarrassed moment of silence, during which both ferrets tried to get their breath back. Eventually she spoke.

"Ummmm…welcome to Middledune!"

"Uh, yeah, Middledune, right. Uh, where's that?"

"On the southern coast. I'll even show you if you don't crush me first."

Dimly Veil realized he was still on top of her. He shifted, and then got up.

"Sooo…you sleep well?" she said nervously.

"Better than I have in a long time. Whose house is this?" he inquired politely.

"Oh, mine. It's not much, really, but it's home!" She smiled sheepishly, which caused Veil to smile as well.

_So she put me up, let me sleep, and gave me the robe. Nice,_ he thought, but then it dawned that if she had dressed him in his new clothes, it would require her undressing him as well. He blushed furiously.

"Did you, uh, find any…" he began lamely.

"Oh, your axe?" she replied.

"Yeah, I kinda…"

"Oh, we had to destroy it," she stated bluntly.

Veil stared at her, thunderstruck. His mouth was still hanging open when she began laughing.

"I'm only joking. Here it is."

She pulled it from a drawer in the cabinet by the door. Veil saw with surprise that it had been polished and sharpened. Taking it from her, he deftly flicked it from one paw to another a few times, did a few air swings, and then slung it over his shoulder. Mystfur just stared.

"H – how do you do that?"

Veil flashed a rare smile, which lit up his whole face. "Lots of practice. Are you going to show me Middledune or not, Mystfur?"

"Right this way, milord Sixclaw."

He laughed. Since when had he been anyone's lord? "Call me Veil."

"Only if you call me Myst. Only the chief and anyone who wants a fat lip can call me 'Mystfur'. Gahh!"

She led him outside. As she did, Veil saw the most glorious site he had seen since he left Redwall almost six seasons ago.

The land of Middledune was all green, to begin with. Veil's eyes, still used to the desert, couldn't seem to get enough of the scenery. There were about a score of huts similar to Mystfur's (_Myst,_ he told himself,_ she prefers Myst._), several with smoke rising from the chimneys. All sorts of creatures were out and about, most apparently farming.

And then there was the sea…Veil had never seen with his own eyes a body of water larger than the broadstream that had taken him to Duskskin's mountain, and it was by no means as pretty as this. It was vast, and emerald colored, and it seemed to twinkle in the morning sun. Veil could see several small boats out fishing, and he yearned to be with them.

"Ah, the young sleeper has awoken. Showing him the lay of the land, Mystfur?"

Veil turned to see a tall hare with a handlebar moustache beside him. Startled, he replied, "Are you –"

Myst hastily interrupted. "Veil, this is our chief, Percival C. Treebounder."

"Call me Percy, if you prefer, m'lad," said the hare.

"Percy, this is Veil Sixclaw."

"Pleasure to meet you," said Veil meekly.

"Tcah, pleasure's all mine, to be sure. Catch you two later, too much to be done!" And with that the hare was off. Veil watched him for a bit, and then turned to Myst, a quizzical look on his face.

Myst broke into a grin. "He's a bit…eccentric. Er, have you ever been fishing, Veil?"

If it were possible, Veil was even happier than before. "No, never!"

"Well, come on then, I'll show you."

And with that, she went down to a small sailboat. Veil followed, eagerly awaiting a new life.


	4. Just Fishing

TK here again. When last we saw, Veil was definitely better off than before. But will it last? Will it get better still? Will he forget his self-loathing nature and come to terms with the past? Read on!

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Yup, things were looking up as far as Veil was concerned. He'd gotten up this morning feeling light as a feather. He'd had yet another breakfast that actually made him feel full, and he'd put on another one of his new habits. This one was black, with elegant gold trim, and Veil had the wonderfully fulfilling feeling that Myst had made it just for him. It was comfy, he looked dashingly handsome in it, but most of all, the robe smelled like her. Every now and again, he would put it on and catch that wonderful scent of her soft fur mixed with rose oil.

Lovely.

At the moment, Veil was breathing it in with relish as he sat on the deck of Myst's fishing boat, his net in hand. Myst herself was at the tiller. The sunrise glittered off of the waters, not so that it blinded them, but as Veil turned to face her, the rays of the sun caught her silky coat, and for just a moment, it seemed to shine in the morning sun. She looked…angelic.

Veil had recently come up with a variety of words to describe her, and that was just when he was awake. What he would think of in his sleep involving her…ahhhhhh…

He was forcefully evicted from his carefree dream as he realized that she had noticed him staring at her, and that he had just missed an entire school of fish swimming right past him.

Reflexes served Veil well, as they always had. He swung the net, and in the blink of an eye, he had the entire thing in the boat.

She actually cheered for him, yes, cheered…

_This really is my day,_ he thought as he beamed at her.

Of course, it hadn't always been like this. The first day he had almost lost the net, and the day after he had ripped it entirely. He had really been ready to stop, more than that, he'd been ready to leave the Dunes, but she'd been there, always giving encouragement. She was so utterly wonderful when it came to making Veil feel better. There were times when he almost forgot his own shortcomings altogether. He could sometimes stop thinking about Swartt's last words, or stop reliving his exile, or not cry about his impossible futures.

Myst called out to him, his cheer reflected in her tone. "You wanna take tiller, Veil?"

Veil smiled, something he did a lot more of these days. He had spent a lot of time learning about boats lately. Having never been on water for anything other than the time he hitched a ride on a log, he found it fascinating. There was so much freedom and tranquility on the waters. And the fact that he shared it with a beautiful girl over a sunset every day was enough to rekindle the romantic nature in him.

He called back, "Yeah, love to!"

She got up, passing him the rod that controlled the rudder. He took it (_Ha ha, I even got to brush her hand a little,_ he thought) and sat down, watching her take his spot on the deck. He smiled, utterly contented.

Except for one little detail. He doubted she really cared for him the way he did her. Sure, she had saved his life, and introduced him to this place, but Veil had the feeling that this was out of friendship more than anything else. Or worse, pity.

But what about his "sixth sense"? Veil often got the feeling she was watching him, and that supported his hope that she liked him as more than a friend.

But Veil knew deep down it could never be. He would have to tell her eventually about his past. And that would put her off for sure. This didn't depress him, since he had come to this conclusion many times over different subjects. But it still lingered, and every now and again, it hurt. He would live like this forever, with that feeling of self-loathing that had sent him this way.

Veil took the small boat out a little further, coming back from his train of thought. After all, no sense in not enjoying the moment, right?

Myst raised her hand to her eyes, taking a look out right (_starboard,_ he told himself) into the water. "Hey, Veil, it looks like there's a big cluster of them over there."

"Okay, no harm in trying. How far out?"

"Dunno, it looks like maybe a few yards. It's kinda between those two channels, think you can make it?"

"Hey, I can push my way through anything." (_Oh, shit, I hope she didn't catch that the way I think she did,_ he thought nervously)

Carefully, Veil maneuvered the small boat between the channels formed by the short rocks. By some phenomenon of the sea, the water inside was perfectly placid.

The light was still quite effective in the grotto, and so Veil noticed rather quickly that there weren't very many visible fish around them.

"Ummm, Myst, you sure you saw fish here?"

She rose. "Of course, they're right behind you, at the rudder, look!"

He stood up, and turned around. He peered over the stern of the boat to find himself staring at…nothing.

"Um, Myst," he began as he turned around, "there's…"

He trailed off as he turned to find Myst standing right in front of him. To Veil, there was a definite "something" in her round, emerald eyes that told Veil that no matter how hard he tried, he knew what was going to happen next. She stepped even closer.

As it was, he tried pathetically. "Myst, um, could you –"

She softly placed one deft finger over his lips, silencing him from any further excuses. With one seductive "Shhh", Veil stopped fighting. He wrapped his arms around her hips as she took him in hers. He closed his eyes, and let his lips find hers.

They both sank slowly into the routine. They planted soft, feathery kisses on each other, starting simply with the lips, and then moving to more…delicate areas. She began to caress his ear with her teeth, and he in turn began to snuggle against her soft neckfur in turn, as they both sank deeper and deeper into the mire of love together.

He pulled back for a second, taking a moment to take in the unkempt state of her fur and the blazing intensity of her eyes. It was a look that he relished to the maximum, the look of a true (_Paramour? Lover? Girlfriend? So many words, and not one of them really describes us,_ he thought). He ceased his pointless line of thought and continued to gaze into her eyes.

And was thus able to see the reflection of the rat on the rocks behind him.

Quick as a flash, Veil whirled around. Faster than any eye present could track, the blade of Perdition was out of its shoulder sling, its firm handle gripped in his blood-red paws. His light blue eyes scanned the scene, and widened instantly.

A medium-sized skiff was riding in the waters behind the rocks. And there was not just one beast overlooking the scene. Veil saw at least five other rats, seven ferrets, a scattering of weasels and stoats, and the odd fox.

And…

A wolf. A northern wolf. Veil had heard legends of the creatures of the Northlands, reputed to be an exceptionally dangerous breed, of which Martin the Warrior had once come from. This one seemed to be no exception, from the well-trimmed silk cloak to the broad pair of sabers over his back. His cold, gray eyes, set into the long, unsmiling face, were as full of the glint of a murderer as the swords he carried.

Silence struck the rocky waters, broken only by the winds whipping across the scene. Veil saw just how dangerous this force really was.

The vermin Veil had experienced were, in fact, nothing like this. A regular mob of rats would be jeering them, and would have attacked them long before now. These beasts merely stood, silently watching. There was also an unbelievable discipline to them, as far as he was concerned. The weapons they carried, though varying from cutlasses to bows, were in perfect shape, and Veil could see by the way they held them that each one in turn knew his weapon like the back of his paw.

The wolf spoke first. As his voice reached Veil's ears, he was reminded of steel on ice: Cold, malicious, and deadly. "Ah, dear Mystfur. I take it you're well?"

His tone indicated he was a killer born. Veil knew that this wolf couldn't give less of a shit if she was dead or alive. Myst simply cowered in fear, a reaction that merely made Veil hate the cruel lupine even more.

"Are we frightened, Mystfur? I would have thought someone with a father like yours would show a bit more backbone. Never mind, as long as you have your double share ready, I'm happy as can be." His tone changed from sarcastic contentment to crisp, sharp commands. "Arguss, get her aboard. Bladeteeth, kill the other."

The world seemed to move in slow motion for Veil. He saw a fox, apparently Arguss, draw a scimitar and move towards Mystfur. He saw the rat, Bladeteeth, pull out a well-polished throwing knife. He saw him pull back, and deftly flick the knife at him.

Veil took the space of an instant in time to react. The edge of Perdition hummed as Veil brought it up sharply. The wondrous axehead flashed once in the sun as the dagger clattered against it, bouncing blade-first into Arguss's shoulder.

The lean, muscular fox didn't even flinch. He merely took the long blade out with his other paw, handing it back to Bladeteeth, and then continued hauling Myst on board.

It occurred to Veil that the wolf was laughing, a meaningless reaction, but full of frosty malice nonetheless. "Parlay, young ferret, I would speak with you. Bladeteeth, get him aboard."

Veil wasn't in the mood for parlay. He was in the mood, however, for battle. He brought the head of the axe towards the wolf still laughing. The blade moved closer to the wolf, nearing its target, slicing through the air to strike him…

Only to be parried by the two swords that had appeared in the wolf's hands. For a moment, the two locked eyes. Cold blue eyes glared at pitiless gray ones.

"I said I would parlay," came the answer. The false joviality had gone from his voice. "What's your name, whelp?"

"I am Veil Sixclaw of Mossflower. Do bastards like you have names?"

"This one does. I am Fargan, the Butcher of Northmount."

Northmount was not a land Veil had heard of, but Veil didn't doubt the butchering part. Those swords looked more than overused.

"Now get aboard, Sixclaw."

Veil took one last poisonous look at the massive beast, and then walked up the gangplank of the skiff.

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Oooooh, what now? I will update soon, for the sake of not letting a cliffhanger go unresolved. Reviews do make my day, please tell me what you think.

- TK


	5. Is That It?

TK: Ah, back for more, huh? Gooood! I have trained you well. Thanks to all my reviewers who made writing this all worthwhile.

OK, enough of my yappin'. When last we left off, Veil and Myst are being held prisoner by Fargan the Butcher. Not very complicated, right?

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The skiff was a craft that had seen bloodshed beyond Veil's time, obviously. It wasn't enormously large, but accommodated the score of killers plus Fargan quite nicely. It had a small armory in the bow, as well as an expansive cargo hold Veil noticed was stuffed with small wooden chests, seemingly empty.

They had let him keep Perdition, of that much he was thankful, but that wasn't a really big deal. Every weapon on the deck was pointed at him and Myst. Every weapon, except Fargan's two sabers.

The gargantuan wolf was sitting lazily on one of the mysterious boxes, smoking a pipe. His eyes rolled over Veil a few times. "Interesting paws you've got there, boy. Why red?"

"It suits me," Veil sneered.

Fargan didn't respond immediately. He just smiled a moment longer, and then continued. "And what's with the left one? Why the extra claw?"

Veil didn't answer.

"You any relation to Swartt Sixclaw?"

Veil breathed deeply "My father."

"Oh, really? How is the old villain these days?"

Veil smiled thinly. "Not too well. I doubt that his grave is well-kept."

Fargan added a little surprise into his voice. "What, dead? Knew it would happen someday. How come?"

"I killed him," Veil stated simply.

Now the treacherous lupine sounded genuinely interested. "Ah, a fratricide then! Same here. I killed my old pater once he tried to drown me for trying take the throne from him. I never got it, but I still got rich. Watch."

They had reached the shore. _I really hope Percy saw us come in,_ he prayed to nothing in particular. _That old hare could get them to run all right._

His eyes widened and his heart sank as he saw what the beasts of Middledune had done.

All the creatures, great and small, stood in a single-file line across the shallows. They all carried bundles in front of them. They didn't move, they didn't try to run, they didn't even speak.

Veil realized with disgust exactly what those wooden chests on board were for.

The crew of the skiff began hauling boxes off the ship. After all were on the shore, Fargan raised a paw. Myst scrambled off to gather her share of goods. Fargan dropped his paw.

"Fill!"

Without so much as a word, all the Dunefolk began to unload their bundles of silk, steel, and timber into the chests. Veil watched, aghast.

Percy, the stout, dependable chieftain, went last, with a bundle larger than any before. The proud hare's face was turned downwards.

Enraged, Veil saw how truly spineless the people of Middledune were.

The last bundle was unloaded. Veil saw that only about two-thirds of the chests had been filled. He knew it. The Dunefolk knew it.

And Fargan knew it.

He uttered eight more words in a life that seemed full of them. "Is this all you have, you miserable peasants?"

They all cowered under the lupine's verbal lash.

"Do you think that I would come all this way for this? Did I save your miserable skins for nothing? Have you all forgotten what we all did for you in the beginning?" He whirled, turning on Percy. "Talk to me, scumbag!"

Percy stuttered, trying to say anything to save his skin. "The reap – we didn't have time – just – "

Fargan sneered. "You what?"

Percy just trembled.

Fargan jumped back aboard. "I'm willing to give you all a second chance. Would you want to know why?"

Their mood brightened a little.

"There's a ferret with you. I worked with his father from time to time. Well, Veil here is twice as good as Swartt was, and he was nails. As such, you all get a second chance. I'll be back next season."

He snapped his paw at a stoat on the deck. The stoat heaved out a massive bundle of food, and dropped it into the shallows. Veil saw that there was enough food there for two seasons worth.

At another snap from Fargan's paws, the entire band had jumped back onto the skiff. As the ship sailed out, Fargan yelled back at them all.

"Next season, I want two shares from all but Veil!"

Veil watched the ship go with burning hatred in his heart at the beast that had rekindled his father's last words and gotten the Dunefolk to follow him end on end. He turned around, to face the grumbling folk, who had heard that he wouldn't have to work.

Percy came out of the crowd. "V – Veil, y-you saved us –"

Veil whirled on the unfortunate old hare "Saved you? From a fate that you seemed perfectly happy to go along with! Why the hell didn't you do something?"

Percy sighed. "It's a long story, m'boy. Old memories, you might say."

Veil stood on top of a small hill. "Seems to me like there's just too much I don't know about this place! I have to know some things, if you really want me here!"

A voice came out of the crowd. "Maybe we don't, 'e said you don't 'ave to work!"

An approving murmur rose. Veil bared his teeth. "You think I wanted this? You think I like being admired by that filth?"

Percy silenced both sides with a gesture from both paws. "Here's my idea, m'lad. Tomorrow, if you're up to it, Myst, you and myself will hold palaver. Seems both sides need to know some things, doncha know."

Veil calmed down. "Deal."

All creatures had a way of dealing with grief. Sunflash had, for whatever reason, mourned an old friend by blowing leaf whistles. Veil's own way was to reflect on things.

He leaned back into the canvas chair he was sitting n, gazing over the desert he had come from. Past the deserts were the Wastes of the Exiles, full of the unwanted, runty vermin from all over, a completely barren wasteland. Further north were the Peaks, an enormous mountain range that separated the wastelands from Southsward. Southsward itself lay further north, an emerald paradise of plains and grassland. Past that were the marshes, the place of the toads, a source of some wonderful pain to Veil. And beyond that lay the Western Shores of Salamandastron, and Bat Mountpit, where his foolish expedition had begun. And to the east, like the juicy, ripened apple Veil could never reach, lay Redwall.

_Hell's teeth, I've really come a long way, and I've got the scars to prove it,_ he thought moodily.

In his head he formulated a plan the way he always did when faced with a task. Simply enough, it consisted of asking what he needed to know. Why did Fargan take the goods from the Dunefolk and leave food? How did he know Mystfur? How did he know Swartt? (Veil doubted they would know this, but it was worth a shot all the same).

Plus, he had to consider what he would tell them. Saying he had poisoned an old mouse, been exiled, met up with his father, killed his father, and then hacked his way across the southlands was a no-go. He had to edit it.

He carefully laid out a marvelous work of fiction in which he had run away from his mother to find his father, only to find that his father had wanted him dead in the first place, and he had thus killed his father, purely accidentally. It wasn't wholly believable, but if they didn't ask too many questions, it would hold water. He tried to think up some credible reason as to why he had run from his mother, just in case.

Did he really know that much about his mother in real life? According to Abbey records, her name had been Bluefen. She had been taken as a wife by Swartt after he killed her father, Lord Bowfleg, Swartt's original master. The general perception had been that she had been a gentle, kind creature who had died from Swartt's negligence of anything other than revenge. That same emptiness rose to Veil's heart as he dearly wished he had known her.

But if Bluefen was a pure-hearted creature, did that mean that vermin could change? Veil had struggled for the answer before, using his own flawed moral character as the standard, but now he had Myst and his mother to consider, too.

_Is it because I'm vermin that I went bad at the Abbey?_ he thought. _Is it in my nature as a ferret? Or is it just because I'm Veil the Poisoner?_

_Is it just because I'm me?_

Hot, angry tears rose to the young ferret's eyes. His head sank into his crimson paws as he slowly broke into wretched, choking sobs at the thought of what might have once been.

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'Sniff' We'll see what comes next soon, don't worry. And as to the questions my reviewers have been asking, I promise I will resolve them before the end. Thanks for the input!

- TK


	6. Switch

Everybody's favorite TaheenKiller here. Here we go, with another chapter in my Eight Words opus. This is my first fanfic, so gentle reviews are appreciated. OK, on with the show…

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He stood in a darkened room. There was no smell, no sound, nothing except the inky blackness of despair.

He'd been here before. But now it was different. He could feel her at his side.

And he could feel him, too.

Light came through, and though he could now see, there was still that despondent air of loss in the "room". For it wasn't a room Veil Sixclaw now stood in: it was his mind.

Images flashed through his mind like lighting flashes across the eyes of stargazers. In that instant he saw any one of possible worlds.

He was in the abbey orchard, the smell of apples in his nose, the rich, sweet smell of another harvest gone by. He picked another ripe russet from the tree with his (unreddened, thought Veil unknowingly) paw, placing it in his basket.

His mother came out, always checking on him, as she had done since he had come here. Bryony was older now, but still full of vigor. With her was old Bunfold, who had always been something of a father and a teacher to Veil.

They smiled at him, looking at the substantial amount of apples he had gathered. He grinned at them, offering them both an apple. They took it, grinning right back.

They sat on the cool, green grass, eating the delicious apples, and Veil felt that powerful feeling that he would never leave this abbey, never leave his only home. He ate his apple, his emotions reached their peak of happiness –

Switch.

He stood outside the wreckage that had been that abbey where they had thrown him out, that miserable relic of hypocrisy. He had told them all this day would come, and now it had, with the wondrous carnage of war as well.

He clutched his scimitar in his blood-colored hands. In his sardonic, bitter mind, Veil reflected on the irony that these paws they had stained were to be their undoing, to be stained with their own blood.

His teeth had been dyed red, his face a work of rustic purple war paint. His father – his real father – stood beside him, his face a similar makeup of purple dyes. The sight of plunder and vengeance shone in both their eyes.

They had already taken down the old badger. The last flaming arrow had been fired at the main building, and all still living could see that the building would soon be consumed, a holocaust of red stone and wood.

A trickling of abbey dwellers was running through the gates, some with their fur still smoldering. The screams and moans of torment that rose from their lips were as pleasing to Veil as the smoke the rose to the sky.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep the smell of yet another successful siege, that wondrous smell of burning timber and raw meat.

The one he had called Bryony was running at him, tears running from her eyes to her scorched habit.

"V – Veil, stop, please, let us –"

He brought his scimitar down in one broad stroke, laughing the laugh that had heralded the death of so many now –

Switch.

He was in another wood, but this one was more shadowy, yet somehow full of light at the same time. Sunlight steamed through the trees overhead. The wind rustled the leaves with a sound like a contented sigh. Veil realized he had reached Dark Forest.

_Not really,_ he thought. _This is Dark Forest as it _would_ have been, if I had died at Bat Mountpit._

He realized with a dull ache that he wished that this way, this path in time's endless highway, had been taken. _I wish I were dead, _he thought glumly. He sat down drearily against the back of an enchanted oak, as he –

Switch.

He was back in the light/dark room, and Myst was next to him too. That mysterious presence was there, as well.

All three switches played before his eyes, Veil the Abbeydweller, Veil the Warlord, Veil the Dead. As each played through, a new scene enveloped him.

Veil slipping the nightshade into Bunfold's drinking water. Veil robbing the dormice at Mossflower. Veil murdering the two foxes along the river. Veil trapping Bryony in the cave near Bat Mountpit. Veil killing his father. Veil slaughtering the entire hoard of the Wastelands. Veil maiming Tigrus the robber fox for life outside the desert. Every one of his greatest misdeeds that he had yet seen.

_This vision is not my life as it could, would, or should be,_ he reflected. _This is my life as it is._

As he turned to Myst, he could see the horror on her face as every sin flashed before them both. With each advance of Veil's murderous nature, Veil could see her turn from him, finally fading into the blackness of the shadows.

But the presence remained. Veil could feel it, the unseen menace in his own mind. It enveloped him, snuffing out Veil like a candle.

Yet he was not dead. He had, in fact, never felt more alive in his life, as a verse coursed through him like water through a long-dry passage.

_Cast out with paws stained red_

_You avenge a life not yet dead._

_Redwall's thoughts have turned to mend_

_Should you win through, your hell will end._

_These things you see are not who you may be._

_Defeat the butcher, and you will see._

_Myst and Redwall shall end your quest,_

_Or merely death, should you fail your test._

He sank into his last –

Switch.

He awoke. Mystfur was leaning over him, nudging him awake. Seeing he was up, she softly kissed him on the cheek, an emotion she hadn't shown since that day on the boat. Veil wondered softly if perhaps that door wasn't closed after all.

He rose stiffly from his chair. Myst helped him up, an expression of one who now does something she enjoys and has to do something later than she will not enjoy.

"Percy and I are ready in the main tent."

Veil looked at her sickly. "I'll be there in a moment."

He stumped off into the brush alongside his small fire. He didn't really need to do anything here, but he needed to think.

He was about to exchange with Percy and Myst. Again, he would have to lie.

But what about his dream? Veil doubted it was any less than a vision, and though he didn't understand it, he sensed a bit of purpose in what he had been told.

He was here to defeat Fargan.

Veil had never really believed in destiny, but he firmly believed in purpose. These beasts in this far-off land needed him, and he apparently served that purpose. And yet…

_And yet it seems I must slash and stab another few yards on my way to hell. Swartt was right._

He was forcibly reminded of his vision as a conqueror, and was only barely able to stop from crying. Instead he vomited.

After he was done, he rose. Myst was still waiting for him, and Veil guessed she had heard him. He didn't care.

Silently, she led the way to the tent of meeting. As he lifted the flap to enter, Veil got the feeling that his purpose was about to begin.

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Please R&R!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I couldn't stress it enough!


	7. Truth Hurts, Truth Heals

TK sez: I'm back! And with the next chapter, too...

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As he entered, he was also sure that someone had just jeered at him from the beach. He wondered if the beast responsible would have done it had he been closer to him or her. Veil doubted it.

The tent was larger inside than it looked, with two wooden benches set up opposite one another in the center. Percy was sitting on one laconically; Myst sat beside him. Veil sat on the opposite bench.

Percy had hung a lantern from the ceiling of the tent. In the evening light, it cast soft, flickering shadows over them all. Veil was forcefully reminded of Cavern Hole.

_So it begins,_ he thought.

Silence reigned a moment longer before Veil spoke. "I'm not really one to stand on ceremony, so I'll be blunt. What's it with Middledune and Fargan?"

Percy adjusted his monocle, and replied offhandedly. "Hard to get any blunter than that, doncha know. Well, to be brief, he saved our lives."

Veil looked back, surprised. "He doesn't seem the type."

"Not naturally, no. But about fifteen seasons back, we were all oarslaves. Kept by a very unpleasant rat named Besbarr, cap'n of the _Seahammer_. The ship was enormous, and it took a large amount of slaves to keep it moving.

"Veil, the life of a slave is a tale not worth telling, so if you don't mind I'll skip that bit. But the long and short of it is that one day, a skiff pulled alongside of us. There were only a score or so of them, and about seventy on the _Seahammer_. But you've seen how well trained Fargan's people are. In less than three minutes, all the crew was dead.

"Usually, pirates will just sink the ship with the slaves still on board. But Fargan did the unthinkable. He unchained us. He took us on board his ship. He freed us.

"But even while we were still cheering for Fargan, he marooned us all here, in Middledune. He gave us one thing: The Pact.

"Middledune is surrounded by desert. There isn't any lumber to build a ship with, and though we can farm and fish all we like, we'd never have enough to last on. But there are other goods here. All the gold, iron, and silk you could wish for.

"The Pact is simple: We mine iron and gold, and produce silk, and Fargan gives us food for a good two seasons. Two seasons later, he returns, and so on.

"That's really all one can say, Veil. Anything else?"

"Yeah."

Percy peered at him over his monocle. "Mmm?"

Veil's response caught them like a slap in the face. "Do you people have any balls whatsoever? Have any of you tried fighting?"

Percy looked uncomfortably at Myst. "We actually did have an uprising. That's a horror story for another day, I think."

For the first time, Veil noticed Myst wasn't looking at him. He knew that behind her discomfort there lay a tale that was as horrific as his, if not more.

The steely glaze came back into Veil's rich blue eyes. "Percy, would you excuse us?"

The old hare took one look at those eyes, and left without a word.

Veil's eyes whirled around to blaze at Myst. "Tell me how Fargan knows you. Tell me why you and I are the only vermin here." Gone was the kind, caring feeling from his voice. Replacing it was a cold, businesslike tone.

Myst just stared at the ground. Tears were beginning to rise in her eyes. "V - Veil, I can't. I – It's too painful."

"Myst, look at me."

She did.

"I spent six seasons of my life trying to keep my own story from everyone. I thought that burying the ghosts of the past would silence them forever."

Myst looked up at him, pain etched in every corner of her pretty face.

"That's shit, and I think you know it as well as I do. You have to let it out sooner or later, Myst. It's too painful to hold on to. Let it go."

He could see Myst didn't want to, and he thought he knew why. She was afraid he would hate her for what she had to say, flee in horror from her past. In essence, the same fear that had plagued him.

"Myst, my story is probably worse than yours. Don't be afraid."

He rubbed his red paws against his temples, sat back down on the bench, and told her his story.

He had meant for it to come out slowly, but as he remembered the feelings his past arose in him, it came out in a torrent. He told her of Redwall, of his exile from that happy place. He told her of his journey to the sea. He told her (and this was hardest of all) of how he killed his father. And he wound down by telling her of his exploits ever since, the Southsward Campaign, and every skirmish in between.

After he was done, he sat down, spiritually exhausted in every way.

Myst had stopped crying, but she carried the face of one who feels like they are marching to their death.

"M-my story's s-so similar, Veil, but also so different. I was the daughter of Fargan's second-in-command, and I spent my life just living off of the Dunefolk. Until one season, that is.

"The skiff had needed repairs that one season we sailed into Middledune. They were all so afraid of us, I remember. We told them we'd be staying there a while, until they got enough wood together to fix our ship. My father put us up in the dwelling of a hedgehog who was about twelve seasons old, four seasons older than me, Julia Goodspike. I'll never forget her. Never. I can't go a day without forgetting her.

"She hated us, to begin. Fargan had killed both her parents for not gathering what they needed. But she took care of us anyway, until the ship was ready. But she did more for me.

"Julia showed me all of the fun places to play at Middledune. She taught me songs, and games, and how to make skilly 'n' duff, even." Myst smiled with the memory. "And so once we left, we were about as good friends as could be. And whenever we came back every two seasons for the plunder, we would see each other. Far from being a perfect friendship, but it was…nice.

"And so I really began to see the harm of our work at Middledune. Julia suffered tremendously from her efforts to come up with the goods. Sometimes I would see that she hadn't slept just so she could make what she needed to. And so, one day, I decided to try and start a resistance.

"I told my father that I needed to go ashore. I wasn't gone long, but it was long enough. I told my plan to Julia, and she leaped on it with enthusiasm. The Middledune Freedom Fighters were born.

"Every time we came back, I offloaded weapons for Julia. Every two seasons, the freedom fighters were that much stronger.

"But Fargan found out. I was sneaking weapons into a crate when he caught me. He'd known all along.

"The hoard pillaged Middledune. Any house that had weapons in it was burned, and its inhabitants were flogged. My father killed himself rather than face Fargan. They told me that he cursed me with his last words.

"But that wasn't enough for Fargan. He had me beaten as well, but that wasn't all. The next day, he took Julia and me out into the desert. He gave me his sword, and he –"

She began to dissolve into helpless sobs. "H-he made m-me k-kill Julia!"

Veil's jaw dropped. He began to understand the real aim of the punishment.

She began to steady herself. "A-after I had done it, I asked him if he was going to kill me. In fact, I asked him to. I _begged _him to. I knew I couldn't live with myself."

Veil understood perfectly. He had felt that same feeling of self-disgust after his battle with his father.

"But he didn't. He told me in eight words what he would do. He said, 'Kill you? Better I let you kill yourself!' And he left me there.

"And he was right. After I had buried Julia, I found that the whole village hated me. I had, after all, brought them from a completely acceptable agreement to terrorism. And so, that day, I went out to the desert where I had killed Julia, and took out my knife. I had it right next to my throat when something stopped me.

"I realized that Fargan had caused all this, not me. It didn't seem right to die for evil that wasn't mine. And so hate kept me alive. I've stayed alive on hate ever since."

She seemed to calm down, and then her head sank into her shapely paws, as she dissolved into another fit of miserable sobs.

"Veil, I'm s-so sorry –"

And Veil had sat in sympathetic silence, crying with her inwardly until she stopped.

Even since that day he had come here, he hadn't found another acceptable home other than Myst's, and so he still had a mat in her room. A plus, were it not for the indescribable shame he now.

He lay on the floor with his eyes open, just thinking, as usual. He had hoped to feel forgiveness within himself, but all he could feel was more guilt, as he had also reopened old wounds for the unfortunate girl beside him.

But was this pain good for him? He could remember Friar Holdburr telling him about bitterroot ointment used for healing. He had mentioned how it stung quite a bit when you used it.

"Then why bother?" Veil had responded snidely.

"Better a sharp sting for a little bit than living with the light sting for the rest of your life, Veil," had been the answer.

Could it be that his current misery was nothing but the temporary sting? Had he "healed" the light sting of his past?

He was interrupted from his reverie by the soft yet unmistakable sound of Myst talking and crying in her sleep.

He slowly got up from the floor, going over to her. Tears were flowing freely from her eyes despite the fact that they were closed. Half-dazed mutterings came from her lips.

"Julia…gotta run, he's seen us now…you can make it…we've lost, Julia…"

And followed were the softest, most pitiable words yet spoken in Veil's lifetime.

"Oh, Julia…I-I'm so sorry…"

Veil was overcome. He could see it no more. He shook her vigorously by the shoulders, hoping dearly she would wake before he heard any more.

"Myst!" he whispered harshly. "Myst, wake up!"

Her bleary emerald eyes slowly opened.

"Myst, it's okay, you had a nightmare –"

Without a word she flung her arms around his torso, burying her face into his chest as another fit of sobbing gripped her. "Oh, Veil, it was horrible, I should've told you –"

"You did what I would have done, Myst. Cut yourself some slack." _I'm a fine person to talk about that,_ he thought.

Slowly, she calmed down as her breath slowed to normal. She looked up at him with her clear, pale emerald eyes. "You're right. I've lived like this long enough."

"When you wake up tomorrow, it'll all be different. I promise."

"I know," she said. "But it still hurts now."

He felt his entire burden slip from his shoulders as he realized that it was indeed the sting of healing that they both felt now. He began to rise.

Myst stopped him with her paw, pushing his chest back down. "No, please –"

He looked at her, composed and calm, but scared at the same time, too.

"I'm sorry Veil, it's just…"

Veil knew what she needed, for he needed it so desperately as well.

"I-I don't think I can be alone any more. C-could you stay?"

"Of course I would," and he meant it with all he had.

And so they lay on her bed, her head snuggled against his chest, slowly drifting into sleep. Before they did, however, Myst said one more thing.

"Veil, what happened out on the boat…?"

"Yes?" he said quietly, waiting for her response.

"I-it was nice."

He grinned. "Yes," he said contentedly. "It was."

He was here, giving comfort to someone who needed it.

_Hey, _ he thought. _Maybe I'm not so bad after all._

_--------------------_

_You like? Please let me know._

TK


	8. Resolve, Resolve

Veil woke with the feeling of utter euphoria. Gone was his misery over last night's affair, gone was his uncertainty over what was happening in the village, and most importantly…

Gone was Swartt's nagging voice from his mind. The old warlord's mental berating had long since ceased to persist in the young ferret's mind.

Plus, he had the wonderful feeling of having so much to do.

Carefully, he pried himself from Myst's embrace. He had been as good as his word and stayed with her until she slept, and even after that he was still content to stay until he himself was claimed by sleep.

He could tell by the ghost of a smile on her sleeping visage that her dreams were indeed pleasant.

Wonderful.

He sifted through his new array of clothing and found a navy blue habit. Putting it on, he cautiously walked out of Myst's hut.

As usual, he had woken an hour before dawn, as he always had since he had first come to Southsward. Good, that meant more time to take care of business.

As he strolled down to the waterfront, he reflected on his own dreams, which had been more pleasant than any he could remember. As with many of late, the subject had been Myst. But they had all been the same: Just Myst, standing there, and him with the feeling of utter self-loathing.

But not now.

In his dream, he had been sitting on an empty, sandy paradise side by side with her, the sun turning to a crimson semicircle as it set in the distance. Hopelessly romantic, yet better than the alternative.

He reached the waterfront. Slipping out of his robe, he slid quietly into the warm, placid sea.

Cleanliness was a virtue Veil had come to cherish of late. Although he had no real influences that would cause this (he had, after all, once slept in a mudhole for two days to avoid Tigrus the fox), he had found the familiar feeling of freshness to be…intoxicating. It was enough to remind him of his days of swimming in the Abbey pond with Firetail, his old partner in crime, those days when his misdeeds had gone no further than stealing food from the kitchens.

_I was so innocent once,_ he thought, and found that he no longer cared. It was behind him now, and with it, Veil felt the old voice of Swartt Sixclaw slip from him again.

He allowed the glassy surface of the water to close over his face, wallowing himself the feeling of the cool water.

He had brought with him his old traveling bag, the only luggage other than his axe (now resting against Myst's wall) that he had ever carried. He now opened it, the smell of old leather greeting his nostrils.

To the casual eye, the bag contained the most unsorted variety of junk under the sun. To a more keen beast, it contained all one needed to fend for one's self in the wild side of the world. Veil withdrew from it now his old knife (the one that he had tried to defend himself with against Swartt), a small piece of crystal mirror, and a piece of soapstone.

He grimaced as he looked at himself in the mirror. Although his days of good eating at Middledune had put the shine back into his black-and-white fur (he had made the mistake of challenging Percy to an eating contest two weeks ago), his whiskers had grown utterly out of control, giving him a haggard look belonging to one of sixty seasons, instead of eighteen.

Oh well. Carefully, with the mirror in one hand and his knife in the other, Veil carefully began to rectify the problem. After he was done, he rubbed the soapstone over himself entirely, and then dunked himself one last time before swimming out.

It was a far way out to the rocks, no doubt about that, but Veil had planned on it being a one-way trip. Carefully paddling with his head above the water, he eventually reached the grotto where they had had to leave the boat.

Fargan had trashed it, Veil saw that within the first second of climbing over the rocks, but he hadn't sunk it. The mast was still in one piece, and it seemed the rudder was almost untouched. But Veil saw that the tiller itself had been slashed in half, and the sails were no more than sheets that had been cut to ribbons.

He slipped into the shallows beside the boat, inspecting the hull. He saw only one real thing that worried him, yet not unfixable. There was a fairly deep cut in the woodwork that water was lapping through at a slight rate.

_To work, Veil,_ the content ferret thought.

Myst had kept a small amount of pine resin on board for problems such as this, and Veil wasted no time in heating it up and layering it on the hole. After the leakage had stopped, he found a spare line and lashed the tiller together as best he could. For a precaution, he also placed pine resin on the mast.

He collapsed into the shallows, exhausted. Although all the superficial damage to the boat had been repaired enough to bring it to shore, Veil had pondered the problem of the sails and still thought up nothing to replace them.

He was still thinking about it when a wolf whistle stopped him dead in his tracks.

Still lying in the shallows, he whirled around to find Myst in a red satin dress lying prettily on the rocks. As his jaw dropped, she winked at him.

He realized with a cold shiver of shock that he had left his clothes on the shore. He blushed, and tried to sink deeper into the water, hoping it was murky enough to conceal his…extremities.

"Errrr…Myst? I'm kinda…not wearing anything."

"Good," came the lusty reply.

Veil cowered in the shallows, desperately trying to change the subject. "Uh, I think I fixed the boat! J-just, uh, the sails are pretty screwed up, we're going to need new cloth!" He laughed nervously.

"Oh? And what…cloth…should we use?" she cooed, as the satin dress slid off her back.

_Oh, heck,_ was Veil's last sentient thought before she slid down with him into the cool waters. Without another word they were both up against the side of the boat, slowly sinking into the dance they had begun that day they brought the boat here. The passionate light returned to their eyes as the fires within them began to speak for them.

"You and I have unfinished business on this boat, Veil," she said in between each kiss.

"Mmm, I always finish what I start. You?"

"The same," came the sultry reply.

They came together with the bliss that so many have felt before, and Veil's last conscious thoughts were, perhaps, that he somewhat understood his dream that he had had before entering the tent, the "switch".

Myst had always kept a ship's blanket handy on the boat, which they both lay under now, leaning back against the masthead, huddled in each other's arms, watching the sun rise.

"You know, it doesn't get much better than this," he said at last.

"I think that sunrise is how I fell in love with this place," she replied.

He didn't answer, which was fine. They were both content to enjoy the moment, without the need for sound.

He wondered darkly if Fargan would leave them to enjoy it. He doubted it.

Myst seemed to read his thoughts. "I wish we could be left to enjoy it."

_The time has come,_ Veil thought. "What if I told you we could be?"

She turned to him, surprised.

"I've never believed in destiny, Myst, but I do believe everything happens for a reason. What if the reason I came here is to help you all?"

"But Veil, how? You're just one beast, they - "

"If I could get the support of all of Middledune, Myst, we'd outnumber them three to one."

Her voice dropped to a more somber tone. "Veil, we tried that. Many lost their homes, some lost their lives. Julia died because of it."

Veil was silent. He knew her story, and he knew she better than anyone could understand loss.

"Veil, I don't want to lose any more of my friends."

"You once told me that it was hatred of Fargan that kept you going."

She looked at him.

Veil continued. "You know my story. I tried to poison an innocent being because I hated him. I killed two foxes because they had done things I hated. I carried on all the way to Bat Mountpit because I hated the Abbey.

"And then I did something that astounded me. I saved a life out of love, not hate. And rather than embrace that love, I rejected it and carried on because I hated myself.

"But I can't do it anymore. I don't want to be driven by my own hate. I want to stop, and yesterday, I think I had a vision of how.

"I am going to raise a resistance. I am going to fight Fargan. And I am going to win."

Myst to one look at those blazing eyes of blue and knew he meant every word he said. "Veil, even if we won, where would we go? There won't be any food if Fargan cuts us off."

The vision of the Abbey orchards in all their splendor rose once again to Veil's eyes. Those shades of red, gold and green as the apples began to ripen. The rays of sunlight through the emerald rows of the trees. The crisp, perfected sweetness of the first succulent bite of a russet apple. And the feeling of cool, soft grass beneath his paws.

He smiled, a full, happy one that lit up his entire face to her. "I know a place."

She could see from the gloriously happy look on his face that it would be wonderful. "Redwall Abbey?"

"Mm-hmm," he murmured contentedly.

"Tell me about it," she said inquiringly.

"First thing's first," he said, taking her in his arms again.

Before his own passions lost his train of thought, one last thought rose to his mind.

_One day, I will sit with her in the orchards eating russet apples beneath the shade of a tree on the soft, grassy ground. And we will talk and laugh and eat and kiss and do every other wonderful thing there is to do._

_One day, I will go home._

_------------------_

_Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease R&R!!!!! It really makes my day!_

_-TK _


	9. The Resistance Formed

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, but Veil knew that his first step was going to be the hardest. He had dreaded the task, but if any headway was going to be made, he was going to need the support of every beast in Middledune. Which considering the circumstances, was not at all attractive. To some degree, he had become disliked by some, and resented by all. All because he wasn't required to work at this damned labor camp of Fargan's.

They were pathetic, really. Veil had once thought all woodlanders were weak, and looking at the motley array of threescore beasts, all too cowardly to stand up to Fargan, not because they lacked the means, but because they lacked the incentive.

They were like abandoned Dibbuns, the kind that, if you kick them, will keep on coming back for more, just for the attention. Woodlanders were weak, Veil had learned, until they had a reason not to be. Those who resided at Redwall of Salamandastron were as hard as nails, because they had something to fight for. These pitiful whelps seemed utterly devoid of seeing a life past this wasteland.

He stood before them all, on the dune where he had called them all cowards, and rightfully so. He remembered them when he had first come to Middledune, so proud and happy with themselves. And when Fargan had arrived, he had seen them crawl on all fours to meet the wily wolf's payload demands. In the back of his mind, Veil gave the lupine points for finding an inlet for plunder that required no fighting, no exchange, and not even a bad word said. Hell, had Fargan asked, they would have kissed his feet, repeatedly.

In the end, Veil felt nothing but loathing for all of these worthless hides. And yet, here he was, about to try and save them all.

Why? Because his dream had said so. But that wasn't true, not entirely (he had disobeyed his dreams time and time again, especially that one night in Southsward). He did it because for once, he _had_ something to give a damn about. For once, Veil didn't feel like such a dead beast walking. He had a reason to fight. Veil remembered how Myst had been so scared on the ship that day. And her reason for fear was a real one, not like these pissy beasts before him now. She feared the past, just as he did. And Veil had learned the past was a formidable opponent.

The mob was silent, not out of respect, but of fear. Veil's reflexes were legendary by now, and they had apparently seen Veil's bladework on Myst's boat. They knew Veil was more than just a warrior. They saw in his eyes that at one point, he had been a _murderer_. Veil realized that he would have to appeal to their hearts, not terrify them. Fargan saw to that around there.

"Friends, I wish I could express how thankful I am to have come here. The last few weeks have been something close to redemption for me, and the seasons know I need that. Some of you may know my story, some of you may not. What matters is not my past, but your future.

"I was there that day when Fargan the Butcher sailed in here and told you all to do his work. I was there when I saw him terrify you all into submission. And something tells me deep down that this isn't what you want. Not at all.

"When I was younger, I once heard a saying that I heard again when I was forced to take my father's life in combat." A hush of wonder rippled through them at this. "The circumstances don't matter, what matters is that the one saying through my mind was this: 'What are you going to do about it?' If I may, I'd relate to you the same saying."

He looked them all over with his bright blue eyes. The cool steel in his voice struck them all with his eight words.

"What are you going to do about it?"

Coll, the fat vole whose family had served as Middledune's most prosperous fisher since anyone could remember, strode forward. "Nothing, that's what we'll do! Fargan's always given us food, he's never been unreasonable –"

"I take it you weren't here for the uprising, then," came Veil's cold reply. "From what I hear, he was quite unreasonable then."

"That was what we deserved. We were in the wrong, he punished us because we did wrong."

_You spineless twerp,_ thought Veil, and his old killing spirit rose up, and for a moment he wondered if it were possible for him and Myst just to leave this place. "You tried to fight for something that you believed in. I see no wrong with that."

"What we got here be fine, Sixclaw. Never needed any more."

"But there is more. More than you could possibly imagine. Any of you."

He sighed with the memory, and told them of Redwall, of the emerald paradise were it stood, of every grassy, lush glade that stood in the orchards, of the food (here Veil thought he had outdone himself as a speaker), of the sweet, melt-in-your-mouth feeling of a damson crumble, the savory, rich taste of Foremole's deeper 'n' ever pies, or that sweet yet burningly hot taste of hotroot stew, Skipper's finest. He told them of the dormitories, of the soft cots and blankets, of falling asleep perfectly content and waking with the bright feeling of having one more day to savor and enjoy.

When he ceased his warm description of his former home, Veil saw that every pair of eyes was glowing with the thought of the wondrous, far-off land.

"The Abbey is fairly new, but it wasn't earned easily. A tale I was once told by Bella was that of the Mossflower Wars. The land was oppressed by a creature much like Fargan, a wildcat demanding great pittance. A resistance was formed, but without much success.

"And then, one day, a warrior from the north came down to Mossflower, with naught but a chipped, rusty sword. And when he came into the fold of the freedom fighters, the unthinkable happened. They won. And with that, they built a great Abbey of sandstone, free of tyranny and oppression, full of joy and happiness instead."

He looked at them all. "We could win. We might one day stand on the parapets of Redwall and look out at the world in peace. But we must fight."

"And if we lose?" said Coll.

"Better you die on your feet than live on your knees," Veil said. He had heard that one from Sunflash, whose favorite maxim it had been.

"I cannot do this alone. I will need help from all of you in this. I will ask only once. Who is with me?"

There was an uncomfortable silence, and for one horrible moment Veil was sure their paws would stay down.

And then the paw of Mystfur shot into the air like an arrow from a bowstring, closely followed by every other paw there.

_To war, Veil,_ Swart giggled in the back of his mind. _After all, you slash and stab all the way to Hellgates._

_Yeah, and guess what? _he thought right back.

_I don't care._

_----------------------_

_Thanks to my reviewers! _


	10. Archery

Sorry for the wait, readers. If you like how this is going, check out "Call Me Veil", the prequel to this. However, it might be some time before I update that one...

------------------

They were good, Veil had no doubt about that. Whether they would make the cut, Veil could only hope.

Today, he stood on the beach. He had never been a spectacular archer, but he could hold his own, and he could certainly teach it.

They were in line, all holding their bows, just a few of the weapons that Borlam, the blacksmith, was turning out. Veil found that he had a very strong ally in Borlam. The fieldmouse seemed brimming with energy in the quest against Fargan.

Veil had had to become the Long Patrol drill sergeant of his worst imagination. He had once seen one in action (from a distance, he'd never wanted to come close to any aspect of his old life), and the experience had been a strange one.

"_All right, you miserable leverets, the time has come! No more sucking on Mummy's teat! Time to be soldiers! Time to piss your pants over something worthwhile! At noon tomorrow, this company will be moving – is that rust I see on that blade? You WILL have that rust off in one hour, starting NOW! Is that clear, Private?"_

Quite harsh, Veil had found it, but Veil doubted that the Sergeant was really so bad off the patrol field. Cruelty had its purpose, and though Veil hadn't reached that level yet, he did have to somewhat hold them to it.

"This is one fine bow. You see, it has a quarter notch to hold in the arrow, plus very supple yew that bends really well. But (and here was where Veil took in the cruelty) without any arrows, it's nothing but a stick, and don't any of you maggots forget it! Fools will tell you power is in the bow, I say it's in the arrow! So an average bow with a straight arrow is better than the fancy bow with a shitty arrow, that's archery for you!"

Later, the time came for target practice. Veil set up three willow stumps out on the shore. Myst distributed quivers to all.

Veil dropped his paw, on queue. The shafts flew in a halfhearted volley, with maybe four successful hits.

"That's it? Is that all you have?"

They cowered a bit, and Veil realized he wouldn't make Fargan's mistake. He wouldn't make them hate him. He would make them hate Fargan.

"Your aim is fine, but your hearts are lacking. Don't shoot at the stump, shoot at the Butcher."

They looked at him, puzzled.

"Yes, aim at Fargan. Aim at the one who took you here, like plants that are placed by their masters to produce! The one who has taken much from you, including the lives of your loved ones! The one who has treated you as slaves from the beginning! What do you want to do to him?"

The response was a deafening roar of "Kiiiiiiiiiiiill!"

Veil roared right back. "Then kill him! Kill him now!"

There was a hiss as all arrows came in a torrent, each one striking the willow dead center.

There was silence. Veil spoke plainly now. "The archer's real weapon is his heart. Now you know that."

There was muttering and laughing as they left, each telling the others of their own hits.

Myst came up to him, capturing his lips without a word. After a while Veil broke away for air.

"Nice work," she said, grinning. "You've really made believers out of them."

"They're good, no doubt about -"

"And," she continued, "You've made a believer out of me."

They came together once more, each relishing the moment.

_Tomorrow I'll do swordplay,_ he thought.


	11. The Discovery

Eighteen weeks saw the change of Middledune from a costal village to the town of warriors. Gone was the pudgy, flabby weakness of old, metallic resolve taking its place. The eyes that had been brimming with cowardly tears when Fargan had arrived were now eyes that held the fiery glint of a killer.

The greatest change had been in Borlam, who had moved from simply hating Fargan to regarding him with a murderer's apathy. Veil could see in Borlam's eyes that the vole blacksmith was waiting for his time.

Myst had become a pillar of grace and strength, forging a yew longbow, spending her mornings making charcoal-point arrows, sliding them into a basket-woven quiver. Although she had her past, Veil knew she would keep a cool head once the fighting began. He found (and this did not surprise him) that he could trust her in any situation now.

Even Coll had come around. Although he did it grudgingly, he had found that he too could hate Fargan if he wanted to. And although Veil didn't trust his motives, he did trust the two dirks Coll now wore on his belt.

In the back of his young, able mind Veil was already formulating a plan. If he was to get these people out of here after the fight (if any of them survived), he needed that skiff. Intact.

And although they outnumbered Fargan's killers three to one, Fargan's people had the battle smarts that no amount of training could bring.

Veil, sitting on the beach with his mug of mint tea, smiled evilly to himself. It wasn't time to fight dirty.

It was time to fight in ways that made dirty look good.

Veil pooled all of his knowledge as to how he could turn the tides of war as unfairly as possible. He knew a great many dirty tricks now, having used them occasionally over the last six seasons. He had once gone so far as to dress up an unfortunate stoat in Veil's cloak, and then sent him out into the field as a draw-fire. The hapless ermine had been filled with arrows, and Veil had lived to fight another day.

Veil thought of Sunflash, who had been not only a great friend in the end but a military genius. What was it he had done at the siege of Salamandastron?

Veil sighed to himself as he recalled the tale. Sunflash had used sleepers from the Long Patrol combined with the squirrel-otter alliance under the banner of Firjack Greenstone and the Guosim to flank Swartt's hoard. Although they had been pushed almost into the sea, they had paralyzed Swartt's offensive and completely destroyed his forces.

Veil closed his eyes as he tried to apply this plan to what would be called the Battle of Middledune. As he pondered, he slowly came up with the defensive maneuvers that would be called legendary.

When he noticed it.

There was smoke coming over the ridge beyond the brush.

Veil leapt to his footpaws, sand churning behind him as he flew over the dunes. In almost no time at all he was at the spot.

A smoldering pile of birch leaves were still there. Veil saw how cleverly it had been done. To the casual observer, it would have appeared to be a dust cloud. To Veil's keen eyes, he saw what it was. Smoke signals.

There were two sets of pawprints, one set, like a mouse's or a vole's, leading back to the dunes. The other were fox tracks, leading away into the brush.

Veil knew two things at once.

Arguss the fox was abroad in Middledune.

And he had an informant in Middledune.

Veil drew in his breath as he realized how dangerously he was playing it.

_So_, he snarled to himself. _It really gets interesting now._


	12. The Foxhunt

That evening found a young ferret brooding over the revelation of the presence of a sword-wielding fox and a traitor. One scared him just a little bit more than the other.

Veil sat abreast a dune. He took out a small flint and tinder, then thought better of it. Arguss would see the fire. He couldn't have that.

He'd been stalking the fox for nearly three hours, he guessed. The breeze that was a constant in the Southland whipped against his black cloak, the one he had worn on his way out of Southsward with tears in his eyes. Underneath it he wore a silk tunic, a blend of old and new.

_Not that there's a difference,_ said Swartt at the back of his mind.

Veil had hoped the voice would go away. It hadn't. The voice that had driven him from everything he had known had returned.

_I've driven you from your weakness_,_ boy. That's all._

Shut up, thought Veil.

_Shut up? Would you shut me up before I've said my bit?_

Veil fumed in mental silence.

_Exactly. It was easy, son, wasn't it?_

What?

_This life you've found. You gave it all up for it so quickly, didn't you? You just suddenly became a fisher? Too easy. You even fell in love, way too easily. So quick, so sudden, so careless. I felt the same way about your mother once. I got you as punishment. And when something came along to disturb your cute little fantasy land, you thought you would be the one to stop it._

We will stop it.

_You think so? Well, here's a little crack in the walls of your fortress of senseless romance and adventure. They're scared. They don't know it, but you do. They act all tough when they're chopping up sticks, but when twenty armed killers come down the gangplank, they'll lose it. They'll hurt anything that comes in their way, including themselves, or they'll just drop their arms. And you'll be killed. Her too._

We will not lose. Or be killed.

_Really? Because as I see it, you and Mystfur will be the only ones standing at the end. And even if you both survive, which won't happen, by the way, do you honestly think you'll be able to feel the same way about her? Because no matter the fight, the first loss in any war is innocence. Whoever wins, that carefree love of yours will be gone forever. You may think you're battle-hardened, but wait until you let something as manipulative as infatuation enter into it. Because that's all it is, infatuation. It's what caused your birth, it's how I landed with you that day. Your respective feelings will be swept away in the hurricane that is Fargan that will descend on this land. You know it._

Shut up. Just shut up.

He sat there a while longer, a lanky mass of black and white swathed in black, an ebony-ivory behemoth of the sands.

A small movement caught his vision. His rich blue eyes snapped to the direction of the disturbance. Veil stood, unsheathing Perdition from its sling on his back. His crimson paws tightened around the black leather grip, the stronghold that had spelt death to so many.

_Like Tigrus. But you didn't kill him with that toothpick of yours did you? No, no axe for him in the end. But like he said, Veil, you're damned. You've only ever fought for vengeance. And no matter how much good you've done here, or will do, it will never bring back that life you gave up. This is no different._

Veil pushed the leering voice of Swartt to its corner, and silently crossed the dune towards the brush.

The hunt was on.

Arguss was moving, that much was certain. Looked like he was headed for one of the canyons along the outer rim of Middledune. Veil padded along the sides of the path, careful not to venture past the levels of cactus and desert shrubs.

A dark, flitting shape about two leagues ahead of him appeared for a second. The fox was flat-out running. Veil slunk down the line of burr, a silent witness as Arguss reached the rocky canyonlands, blood-red in the twilight.

Why was the fox running? There was no way Veil could have been seen, he had been too careful, his garb making him just another shadow along the trail in this evening wasteland.

He reflected on what Swartt had said, and realized that it was all too true. He did care for Myst, but it was simply nothing beyond infatuation. When Fargan attacked, he would have to leave her behind. There would be nothing left between them in the end. After Death had visited Middledune, he would never see her in the same way again, just as he would no longer be someone to share fishing routes with again to her.

But what about when they had told each other their separate sob stories? When he had comforted her in the night, and how he had felt like he was healing himself, too? Did that mean something? Did it mean _anything?_

Veil realized numbly that these factors were no longer in his hands. Whatever the outcome would be, it would be made, regardless of his thoughts.

_That said, Veil Sixclaw of Mossflower,_ he thought, crouching behind a rock, _forget that and get moving._

He slunk over the pebble-littered surface beneath his footpaws. The gravel crunched under them, and in the distance, Arguss stiffened.

Veil dropped, his cloak billowing out from under him like a cloud as dark as night. His sensitive ears pricked up, his blue eyes leveled on the fox now less than a league and a half away.

Arguss looked out at the dying orange sun, setting over the sea, and then turned back towards the enormous gulch that lay ahead, sprinting to the place where sand met stone.

Slowly, like a demon of the earth, Veil rose from the ground. The sun shone dully on his paws, its crimson light adding to the similar color on his pawfur.

By the look of it, the fox had climbed to the very clifftop of the canyons. Veil swept across the stones, following.

He came upon one of the most impressive sights he had seen in his quest. A canyon, almost as fifty times as deep as Veil was tall. It sloped up from where Veil was standing to the cliff, a red-orange behemoth of stone.

Veil spat on his paws, and began to climb.

It was easier than he had thought. The face of the canyon was so jagged that pawholds were no problem. He slid up the face slowly but surely, the only sounds his soft grunts of effort as he scaled the massive golem that was the façade of the canyon. He grabbed a large outlier with his right forepaw, pulling himself up a little further.

With a crumbling noise, the rock came away beneath his paw. Veil squeaked in shock as he flailed backwards, grasping nothing but air.

The wind was driven from him as the shoulder strap from his axe sheath caught an outcrop above him.

It wouldn't hold, and Veil could see it. He closed his eyes and concentrated on shifting his weight towards the rock face, working himself into a swinging motion. He heard the rock shift beneath the change of weight.

The rock broke free, regardless of the fact that Veil was safely above it.

And with that, Veil was over the top of the cliff.

Yet there was no Arguss in sight. The only out-of-place itinerary on the floor of the cliff was another fire giving out that strangely thick smoke, the smoke signals. Veil approached it, his blue eyes boring down on the flames from beneath the folds of his cloak.

His eyes caught a flutter of movement almost directly behind him, and Veil instinctively ducked, falling gracefully on all fours as he did so.

Arguss's scimitar cleaved the space where his neck had been an instant before.

Veil's paws whipped to his back holster, bringing out Perdition's full murderous length. With one deft motion, he pulled away from the direction the blade had come from, rising as he did so.

Arguss stood before him, a threadbare green tunic and tattered black pants only contributing to the laconic killer style that the lean fox wore like a mantle around him. And despite the wound Veil had given him that day when Fargan had descended on Middledune, Veil knew Arguss was too professional to allow vengeance to affect his performance as a cold-blooded assassin.

The grim brown eyes of the vulpine were leveled at Veil, never leaving his midsection, knowing if Veil tried anything, his midriff would be the location of any telltale signs. Arguss knew how to fight.

Veil made the first move. He swept his axe across in a small but powerful slice, careful not to overswing. Arguss knocked the axe stroke aside, sending out a long jab with his blade as he did so.

Veil brought his axehead down against the thrust, pushing the scimitar into the ground. Veil had no time to raise the axe for another attack, so he simply brought his fist forward in one hard punch.

Arguss grabbed Veil's fist, using it to throw Veil forward into the dusty rock. Veil rebounded, cartwheeling off of his left paw and moving away from Arguss. Before he had any time to take advantage of the distance between them, the fox was upon him.

There was no emotion in either stroke. Both scimitar and axe met in a resounding clang. Sparks flew from the point of contact.

And for a moment, Veil found himself looking into the eyes of a murderer. Veil guessed that Arguss was probably seeing a similar apparition in his eyes. And then Arguss knocked aside Veil's axehead, striking out with the flat of his blade as he did.

But Veil was no longer there. The nimble ferret had swept to one side, bringing his fist up in a swift uppercut against the fox's chin. Arguss didn't even flinch, merely slamming his elbow into Veil's throat.

Veil rolled with it, preventing what would have smashed his larynx otherwise. But even then, he felt an upsurge of blood in his throat. He swallowed it, bringing his axe up swiftly.

The strike was a good one. It laid Arguss's flank open, but no more than just a scratch that had drawn blood. Arguss flicked his eyes to the spot for a moment, then brought them back to Veil, straightening his blade against the flat of his other paw, the eternal ready stance of any duel.

Arguss had obviously fought more seasons that Veil had lived, evidently. Plus, it was obvious he had picked up some lessons from his experience. The two beasts were evenly matched in terms of size and strength. Veil's only true advantage was youthful vigor, which he put to use in a flurry of quick, darting blows to Arguss.

Arguss retaliated with equally ferocious, zipping blows, while blocking Veil's lightning strikes. Veil deflected the high-velocity strokes the scimitar was dealing.

They stood there, the blades no more than silver blurs across the vision of the two warriors. The only sound was the humming and buzzing of the blades, like a swarm of iron hornets. There were only the merest of pings as the strikes were parried. Some of the slashes struck home, nicking each creature superficially.

When Veil saw a weakness. It was not a weakness in the vulpine fighter, but it was a weakness. He brought his axe forward with every bit of effort he could muster, aiming straight for Arguss's midsection.

The fox blocked it, but the power that Veil placed in the blow forced the fox to take one step backwards.

One step that took him into the still-smoldering fire.

There was a hiss as Arguss's left footpaw trod on embers. The fox gasped in pain, looking down at his injured leg for just a second.

Veil had no time to employ the chop with his axe he had intended. He instead reared up, catching Arguss in the chest with a wickedly powerful kick.

The power of the kick actually lifted the vulpine off the ground. Veil saw with dismay that while in midair, Arguss was bracing for a quick recovery once he landed on the ground.

Unfortunately for Arguss, there was no ground to land on.

Veil's last vision of Arguss was the fox frozen in space over the edge of the cliff. His cold, brown eyes were wide, his face contorted and stretched into the only real emotional stance Veil had seen it take: surprise and horror. The fox's green tunic and black pants billowed as his form rushed through the air, wrapping around him like a sepulcher's shroud. The scimitar hung loosely in his right paw, its purpose expired.

And then Arguss was gone, plummeting through space with a spiraling scream of despair. Veil rushed to the edge to see him go.

The fox bounced against the sides of the canyon walls twice, finally landing on the jagged rocks that formed the canyon floor. With a muffled splat, Veil saw a torrent of blood splash against rock in all directions.

Veil sheathed his axe in its shoulder sling, checked his wounds, and slumped to the ground in pure exhaustion. He eventually rose, slowly descending the slopes of the gulch towards the still form of the fox.

It was not a pretty sight. The rocks Arguss had landed on had made mincemeat of his innards, and a particularly narrow rock jutted from where his shoulder met his neck.

Veil strode over to the vulpine, starting as he realized that Arguss was not yet dead. A soft, whistling breath came from the pirate as he tried to take a breath in.

"How many more of you are there?" Veil said in a purposeful, sharp tone.

Fargan's only response was that of pointing towards the other cavern wall. And with a sigh, he slumped backwards, dead at last.

Veil searched the body, trying not to look at the carnage of Arguss's guts. The only item was that of some dried crabgrass, which the fox had apparently used to give off the smoke.

And what had he been pointing to?

Veil slowly clambered over the canyon wall, finding himself looking at the sea.

A chill raced up Veil's spine. His mouth opened in an expression of pure terror, his eyes widened in a similarly horrified manner.

Fargan's skiff lay moored out farther out in the deeps, a wavetreading Golgotha. The black trim of its sails, like Death's veil, was roped to full speed, its lanterns giving all the bright light of the hottest depths of hell. Veil could almost feel the baleful eyes of the remaining nineteen killers on board staring at him like phantoms from the dark.

And Veil could feel him too. He could almost hear the mirthless chuckle of Fargan himself, could very well have listened to the laugh of the Devil himself and found very little difference.

They were less than three days away.


	13. Shortcomings, Twice Over

He lay alongside her once more, but he knew it wasn't the same.

Veil had told Myst everything, and with each word he wished he hadn't. With every declaration of the incoming peril he felt them drawing away that much more. And Veil knew why, too.

He realized with a sinking feeling that this war would end what was between them. War was like a pair of spectacles: once worn, things were never the same again.

And yet he still respected her, still cared about what would happen.

And so Veil had come to the conclusion that whatever happened would be beyond his control. He would fight, and he would let fate rule what would happen next.

They looked at each other, the numb pain of fear and doubt in both of their eyes.

Veil spoke at last. "I'm sorry, Myst."

"Me too. This shouldn't have to happen Veil, but…I'm sorry that I got you involved."

"That, I'm glad of. This is the path I chose, Myst. This is what I must do now."

"Veil, whatever happens, I want you to know…it was nice."

"Yes," he said again, "it was."

They kissed, but it was the kiss of parting, a bitter farewell. And Veil turned and left her home, thoughts beyond her now.

He did, after all, have a traitor to catch.

He ran along the dusty silt of Middledune, his fearful eyes scanning the crabgrass smoke over the rocky hills that signaled the most loathsome presence in his mind. Arguss wanted another meeting.

The small woodlander shuddered with the thought of the wily fox with the scimitar. Not for the first time did he wish he'd never made this deal.

But what was the alternative? Both sides scared him just the same, whether it was the sadistic wolf or the sullen ferret, he knew that both would be tougher than he would ever be. But in his mind, he knew that Fargan would win. He'd been around for the first time somebody had tried to change that.

Deeply, he cursed that ferret bitch for causing his current state of misery. They'd killed his wife for it. Hell, they even _raped_ his wife. All because someone just wasn't happy with the way things were. They'd pay for it, and as long as he pretended to hate Fargan, he could undermine the resistance as long as they wanted.

Of course that didn't mean he didn't fear this deal. There was just the hope of Fargan letting him in on some of the booty…after the resistance had been put down and that swank Veil had been eliminated. That prick of a ferret. His name burned in his mind like an ember. He'd just showed up, and he felt like "helping". Didn't he know that Fargan was the only one who really helped them?

In any case, he'd reached the small fire that gave off the crabgrass. Whatever Arguss wanted to talk about, now came the time.

He called the fox's name softly, looking around sharply. No one was in sight, not even the saturnine fox.

He called again. "Arguss?"

A voice of steel on ice replied, "He'll be fine as soon as his guts grow back."

He whirled around to see what he dreaded. The wraithlike ferret was clad in his worn, jet black cloak that flowed around him like the shadows from trees in a storm. The mask of white fur around his face was skull-like in the evening light. The gleaming axehead seemed to sneer at him.

In short, Veil Sixclaw looked like the Keeper of Dark Forest to him. Death was paying a visit.

"Hello, Borlam," said Veil.

Veil's heart sank within him as he saw the true identity of the insider. He'd always considered Borlam to be his greatest ally. Looking at this pathetic wretch, Veil felt cheated, as though everything had just been taken from him in an instant.

And in a sense, it had. He'd never had much, having stolen everything at the Abbey, and then living off of the land since his exile. And now he'd lost Myst. And now, apparently, he'd lost his allegiance in his staunchest ally. And maybe more than that.

Borlam was now curling into a shivering, whimpering mess on the ground. And Veil saw all along how his father had been right. How Fargan had been right. These creatures were pathetic. This one had sold him out to Fargan for nothing other than fear.

Why should he help them? Why give them this chance if they just turned away at every chance?

Borlam was sniveling out some half-baked combination of an excuse and a plea for mercy, and the disgust in Veil's mind rose so sharply that he raised the axe up in a kill stroke. His kind had always been called vermin, and yet this worthless lay before him, the most verminous of them all, and a mouse, even. Redwall and Salamandastron were the exceptions, not the rules. Beasts as weak as this were to be put down. He brought the blade down. Hard.

And as he did, he recalled the dream he had had, the "switch", where he had destroyed Redwall and executed Bryony. In that dream, he had thought the same way he did now.

And he had been horrified by it.

And so Veil shifted the blade at the last possible second, and the tips of the sniffling Borlam's whiskers were hacked of like grain under a scythe.

"Do you think I'm like Fargan, Borlam?" came the harsh voice.

The tearstained face rose.

"Because I'm not. I can kill, yes, but what I do it for is different altogether. My motives are what matters."

"Is that so, Veil," came the low, drawling voice behind him.

Borlam fled in the opposite direction. Veil whirled around, his axe in paw. His eyes widened at the sight.

The blackish-gray fur was the same, with a modest beard offsetting the cruel yet charismatic face. The lavish silk tunic ruffled in the breeze slightly, a silver buckle glinting in the evening light.

Fargan the Butcher was standing right in front of him.


	14. Palaver

It was then that Veil truly appreciated how dangerous the wolf really was. Not only was he almost twice Veil's size, but he was able to move as Veil could: Silently, stealthily, and deadly.

Veil's axe was at the ready, but Fargan appeared to be unarmed. And while Veil had killed unarmed beasts before, he had long since put that behind him. He was a warrior now, not a murderer or a bounty hunter. He had to act accordingly.

And so he whipped Perdition back into its sling. Fargan smiled, and did something Veil would not have expected in a thousand years. He laughed, and grabbed Veil in a friendly bear hug. When he was finished, he sat down on the rocky shore, and Veil followed suit.

For a while, they just looked at each other, Veil always wary, Fargan still playing amiability. Veil's subtle blue eyes locked with the Butcher's smiling gray eyes.

"So, Veil, you got them moving."

"What?" interrogated the ferret.

"The Dunefolk. Borlam told me all about it. You really are Swartt's son. You know how weak they are. You're good at this sort of thing."

"Thank you," said Veil, genuinely courteous. He could remember Bella Badgermum mentally reminding him that manners were the weapon of the gentlebeast.

"But it won't last, good though you are. Know why?"

Veil remained silent.

"Because they're woodlanders. That means they're very kind and polite…until their little dreamworld is interrupted. Then they're treacherous and weak. They will do anything to insure that us 'vermin' don't disturb them. Once the real world takes hold, they are schemers, Veil."

For the first time since the wolf's arrival, Veil unclenched his crimson paws, and actually listened.

"I'd like to tell you a story, young Sixclaw. The story of how I left Northmount, my home.

"My birth is somewhat unremarkable. I was the eldest son of King Derogan of Northmount. I had a brother, Urgan. Life was good.

"Northmount is a mountainous kingdom, Veil, but not cold as the North goes. We had a pact with the locals, all what you call 'woodlanders', who would work for us as laborers. We were never cruel, but it was still slavery in my mind.

"I became more and more sympathetic to the slaves. I participated in attempts to soften my father's disposition towards them, somewhat successfully, I might add. The slaves were happier, my father was happy, and I was now happy: I was later wed to the love of my life, Stella Marena of Snowhill, a neighboring kingdom.

"But all good things end. The following season, an attempt was made on my father's life. The evidence pointed to me, and, through some miscarriage of justice, I was quickly sentenced to death.

"They tied a rock to my footpaws and flung me into the Loch. I would have drowned, but there was an air pocket beneath the rocks and I was able to breathe long enough to remove the stone.

"I thought my father was mad. Why else would he not have ordered my release? He knew that my loyalty was to the welfare of Northmount, not to the slaves. So I did what I thought I had to do. I allied myself with a squirrel rebel named Delah and agreed to poison my father. I didn't want to, but if he was mad, it had to be done.

"But when it was, I found I had been deceived. I was soon appointed King, and I agreed to become more hospitable to the woodland slaves. But, I discovered that my father had ordered my release. In fact, that was the first thing he had done. But Delah, or someone on his orders, had doctored the message so it ordered my execution. And it wasn't just King Derogan he wanted to be gone, it was all of the royalty.

"My mother was killed the next day. I myself watched as my dearest Stella was violated and then decapitated. My brother Urgan was exiled to Sorrowfrost, where he probably froze to death. I was next in line. The next day, I was beaten, and then filled with arrows. I was left for dead.

"But I wasn't."

Veil realized that there was more to this shadowy lupine than met the eye.

"I had learned to fence in my youth from the best. When I had nursed myself back to health, I snuck back into the city, which was now total chaos. All the wolves were dead, every woodlander suspected of being in league with our kind executed on the spot. I broke into the royal armory and stole the two finest sabers I could find.

"And then I made one last stop at the palace. Delah's gang had destroyed all records, every piece of our majestic history, and even the abbey cathedral had been laid waste to. Delah had said that our faith in the seasons and our belief in Dark Forest was 'against the wishes of the better good'.

"No word was said, no remark exchanged. I simply killed them all. Except Delah. I saved him for last.

"I made myself a meal fit for a king. The appetizer was a peck of mushrooms in hotroot and milkweed sauce. To drink was a fine strawberry wine which had been served at my wedding. For dessert, I made myself hazelnut pudding, not very royal or culturally advanced, but it was something I'd loved since I was a cub. The main course was Delah, still alive."

Veil saw the burning light in Fargan's eyes with the memory, and found that he was glad for the wolf.

"I snuck out all the bodies of my fellow wolves and the woodlanders that had served us, minus my brother, whom I couldn't even hope to find. I buried them as best I could, bid farewell to Stella. I burned what was left of my home and I left. From then on, I wandered far and wide. I met all kinds, including your father. You know the rest, really." Fargan finished.

"I've been around since our last meeting, Veil. We sailed to a place far south of here called Plage du Lapin, and it's heavenly. Beaches, cool grass, and maids like you've never seen: beautiful, kind. But I've found out about your past as best I could. You're not that different from me."

"My point is that you and I can work together. We needn't be cruel to the Dunefolk, just keep them in their place. After all, they're woodlanders. And now you know what they're really like."

"I was raised by a woodlander," said Veil quietly.

Fargan looked at him.

"I don't doubt your story, Fargan. I can see in your eyes it's true. But you've let your anger run way past it's course. You avenged your past, now let it go. Leave Middledune, or live with us in peace. Not all of the woodland types are the same."

"Like Borlam?"

"Borlam's weak and cowardly, just like you know. But I was raised at an Abbey where they are anything but. I don't want to fight you. I now know what's happened to you. I am sorry. But if you won't back down, we will fight."

Fargan stood. "Just think about what I said." And he turned, and walked down to the shore.

Veil was alone again, but looking at the shore, a plan came to mind.

Tomorrow, they would fight.


	15. Thoughts

That night brought a number of interesting thoughts to mind.

A ways out from shore, Fargan thought of his past, his lost brother, Urgan. Legend had it that a fox had taken his name and his skin, but that was probably untrue. He thought of his lost home and family, and most of all, he thought of those pathetic woodlanders he hated so. But he also thought of the lanky, taciturn ferret that he both despised and admired, almost like a son. He thought of the next day, what would have been the collection day, had it not been for this silly rebellion.

In her comfortable hut, Mystfur contemplated her father's suicide and her murder of Julia Hedgehog. Vaguely, she wondered what life would have been like had she not tried to rebel, or if she had not tested wills with Fargan the Butcher. Or if she hadn't met Veil. The last thought raised such a heavy lump in her thought that she tried to think of something, anything, else. But it still remained, and she pondered if she would have to live like this forever, or until something else happened.

On the far side of the beaches, Borlam huddled against the walls of the cave he was now living in. He wished bitterly for his old home, his small farmhouse in Middledune. And coupled with that came a sobbing, cowardly hatred of the one who had driven him here. He couldn't ever fight him, no, he wasn't a fighter, but he would have his revenge some way, that he knew.

And on the sandy shore where he had swam when he first came here, Veil Sixclaw of Mossflower sat on his haunches with his eyes closed, thinking of everything. He thought of his dream, the "switch", and what it probably meant. He thought of his father and his whole sorry past, and of Myst. But that was gone now, mainly. What remained was the mind of a true fighter, as he slowly let everything else slide away, preparing himself for war.

And very, very briefly, he was at peace. For the first time in his life, he no longer held any desires or sorrows at all.

As he let himself slide away from everything and retreated into the depths of his mind, he felt the sensation of opening a door.

He was in a darkened room. Lamplight flickered ominously across a table, where two beasts were seated.

He sat down, and looked at the two.

Glaring from across the table at him was his father.

"What is this?" he asked.

"A place you've never been, and never will be again," said his father, his crimson teeth glinting in the candlelight.

Veil said nothing, looking only at the shadowy figure on the end of the table. "Who is he?"

"You have never met him, yet you know him," said his father simply. "He's a mediator for this little reunion."

"And why are you here?"

"The better question," said Swartt, "is why you are here. The living only appear here if there is some knowledge the dead absolutely must impart to them. And so, apparently, as part of my penance, I must tell one thing…son." The last word, Veil was surprised to find, was almost parental, actually friendly.

"Veil, you have managed to let it all go before your fight tomorrow. That's admirable in any war, but you've gone too far now."

"Tell me more," said Veil, and he sat down for what he hoped wasn't pointless smalltalk.


	16. Hell

_E quelli: « Ei son tra l'anime piu nere;_

_Diverse colpe giu li grava al fondo :_

_Se tanto scendi, la i potraivedere._

_Ma quando tu sarai nel dolce mondo,_

_Priegoti ch'a la mente altrui mi rechi. »_

_He said, "Their souls are among the blackest in Hell,_

_With different faults that weigh them to the pit,_

_If you descend that far you may see them all –_

_But pray you: when you return to earth's sweet light,_

_Recall my memory to the human world."_

_- Canto VI, Dante's Inferno_

_------------------------------------- _

Veil looked down at his father's hands and was shocked to see that they were manacled. "What is this?"

"My penance," growled the chained ghost of his father. "My substitute for a life well lived."

The hooded figure said nothing.

"You know, son, it's time you knew what happens tomorrow. That's not important, not the details, anyway. What you need to know is this.

"One: Like it or not, your emotions are going to play a part in this. Live with it."

Veil said nothing.

"Two: No matter how much you tell yourself otherwise, you're a killer, bred and born. That's what a ferret is."

Veil rose to his footpaws. "No, that's not it at all. I've had enough of all of this talk – "

Swartt rose too, and it was the most terrifying thing Veil had witnessed. Swartt drew in close, and in his eyes Veil saw the hell Swartt had left to show him this.

He saw bleakness other wise unimaginable, and he saw them, too. The evil dead. Many had names, some didn't. Some he knew from lore of old, and tales that had been told. Ungatt Trunn, Badrang, Lady Tsarmina of the Thousand Eyes, and others too freakish or tormented to recognize.

"I am here", said Swartt, drawing away, "to ensure you don't make their mistakes. Others have said the same as you, that they are not killers, and one day, they die and they come here, and the gatekeeper will show them that they are. It is their denial that is their downfall, Veil. Hate this fact, but accept it."

"But I'm not a killer! I know I'm not!"

"Do you? Every life you take is followed by a struggle with your emotions over that. Think carefully before you say that again."

Veil did. He thought about every life he'd ever ended. The fox bandits. His father. Tigrus. Arguss. Countless others in between. Every instant of feeling he'd ever felt over it.

"No. I'm not."

"Then prove it to me! When the time comes, you'll know how."

And with that, the now-shimmering visage of his father and the ghostly hooded figure was swept from him like crumbs from a kitchen floor.

----------------------------------

The troops of the resistance sat on the sand, springing up when Veil returned.

Veil sized them up, and after a long pause, said eight words.

"Alright. Here's the battle plan for tomorrow's work."


	17. Fire and Water

So sorry it's been so long!

---------------

The vermin skiff slid into the sand on the beach the next morning. The plank was lowered, and the eighteen-odd vermin plus Fargan climbed down onto the shore.

The figures of the Dunefolk stood on the shore, wearing those stupid cloaks they always did. Fargan sneered. In the face of all else, these creatures would never really change. They seemed unarmed, so that was a plus. Apparently they had given up on this rebellion. Good thing too: the last one hadn't worked out so well for them, had it?

But where was the booty, then?

Fargan leered at the cloaked figures. "So, then, beasts, where's my tribute?"

They didn't answer.

"Are you still following through on this stupid idea of rebellion? Well, don't. Just bring the goods or die."

Still no response. "Say something or die!" snarled the wolf.

Silence reigned unchallenged.

Fargan sighed. A show of power was needed. "Sniv, stab the one on the far left."

The rat drew the skinning knife and walked nonchalantly up to the cloaked figure on the left. Still no response.

It was right before Sniv brought the blade down on the woodlander that Fargan realized something was very, very wrong.

The blade went through the cloaked beast easily enough, but Sniv heard a sound not like the side of a living thing being stabbed at all. It sounded more like damp wood.

Leaving his blade in the wound, Sniv ripped off the cloak…and screamed in horror.

It was more than damp wood. It was a barrel full of lantern oil. Furthermore, the whole thing was encircled with small bits of flint and sulfur.

Which had just been ignited by Sniv's knife strike.

Flaming oil poured out of the hole the rat had cut, flowing over him in a torrent of liquid inferno. Sniv let out one wailing cry of pain before the fire spread to the other barrel-decoys. With the effect of a small explosion, the entire shore was instantly engulfed in flame. Small bits of flint whizzed at the vermin, nicking their flesh, singing the fur of all.

From behind the pillar of fire arrows began flying, taking down a stoat and a ferret in front of Fargan. "Action, all of you!" he shouted at the remaining fighters.

Knives were drawn, swords readied. Bows strung. The pack of Fargan's killers were no longer under a surprise attack.

Vaguely, Fargan noticed that on either side of the bonfire, the woodlanders were descending the slopes, weapons in hand. Unless they wished to get back on the skiff, they would have to fight uphill.

Fargan chose the former. Come back later, without the ambush. He turned around to see to his dismay that this was out of the question.

A stray bit of flint or wood had hit the decks of the skiff, which was now in flames altogether.

So be it. Victory was still assured. The fight was about three-to-one, but Fargan's beasts had the experience and cunning of five.

In any case, this would mean the end of one side or the other. Or both.


	18. Melee

I'm very sorry this has taken so much time to be updated, but things around here have been extremely hectic. Thank you for your patience, and here comes the good part of the story.

---------

In retrospect, Veil was extremely proud of his plan. Very proud indeed.

It was so brutally simple, so quintessentially basic that there was no way it could fail. An entire score of archers, and the remaining score with swords, knives, and other close-range objects, with a team of lances up front.

He was in the latter half. They had spent the day cutting oak shields from old fishing boats, as well as long-handled pikes. Those in front carried the pikes, and those just behind them were able to hold the shields in front of the whole pack. In essence, it was a group of charging beasts, all armed to the teeth with razor-sharp spears in front of them.

They ran down the hill, a moving mass of death. Fargan had time to yell out the order to duck before Bladeteeth, Maldurant and Firetail went down, impaled upon the wall of pikes that came upon them.

Too close to fight with spears. Veil brought out Perdition from its backsling, shouting the order to form the Guosim Windmill.

Veil had learned this rather brutal tactic from Log-a-Log years back. Three circles of swordbeasts were formed, with a team of slings and stones at the center of each one. Each circle would rotate, never staying in one place too long. Stabbing, prising, slashing, all the while as slingstones were rocketed overhead.

Fargan saw the ultimate failure of his plan. He shouldn't have underestimated the northerner. He should have bargained. But not all hope was lost. One last maneuver might be in order. Suicide charge.

With the last bit of sound his hoarse voice could utter, Fargan ordered them to charge.

The Dunefolk took down five more of Fargan's assassins before they broke through the formation. No more windmills, no more lance charges. It had come down to what every single battle inevitably does: Melee.

Percy took a slice from a ferret's scimitar and went down. As the ferret tried to impale him on the ground, Percy kicked out, knocking the ferret's footpaws from under him. The unfortunate vermin fell right on Percy's sword.

Veil saw that the hare was doomed if he stayed in battle much longer. Knocking the dagger from the hands of the rat he was fighting, he bulled his way forward, grabbing Percy by the scruff of his neck by his blood-red sixclaw, hurling Percy outside the gory circle that had formed around the area of the skirmish.

Without any real combat tactics, the assassins of the wolf were the clear superiors. But unfortunately for them, there weren't so many of them any more. Only about eight still stood, including Fargan.

A weasel went down with one of the arrows fired from up on the hillock. Coll took down another rat with his daggers.

But Coll was himself doomed.

Before Veil's horrified eyes, Fargan reared up behind the unfortunate vole, saber in hand. With a swishing sound like the wind hitting a sail, Fargan took Coll down with a slice across his back.

Veil was up and running. Within moments the two were face to face.

Silence fell across the battlefield as the ferret and the wolf circled one another. Veil was easily smaller than Fargan, and only armed with the battered badger's axe as opposed to the two gleaming infantry sabers Fargan had. But the wolf had viewed Veil as an inferior enemy before. He would not make that mistake again.

Each pair of eyes searched for any weaknesses at all. Each pair of eyes found none. Veil's steely, impassionate eyes flicked to and fro, his white-tipped tail whipping back and forth beneath his frayed black cloak all the while. Fargan's once-emotional gray eyes seemed to be trying to pierce Veil's very soul as they appraised him over and over, the fine, lustrous brush of Fargan's lupine tail flowing out behind him.

They were, as every beast present realized then, perfectly matched, sinister doppelgangers of one another: The cynical wolf who had tried to help others only to lose it all, and the laconic ferret who had only tried to hurt others…until now. The fate of Middledune seemed to stand on the fulcrum of a scale, with the two angels of Mercy and Death on opposite sides.

It was then that Fargan's eyes seemed to relax for a second, as if relaxed. And it was then that Veil knew something was utterly wrong.

He felt a white-hot shock of pain race across his hip as Borlam stabbed him from behind. It was nothing more than a flesh wound, safely above his leg and away from his internal organs. It only distracted the ferret for a moment or two.

But moments were all the wolf needed. With a low, baleful howl, Fargan flung himself on the unfortunate ferret, slamming the hilt of one of the sabers into his jaw, knocking him senseless.

Dizzy as could be, Veil landed on his back, Perdition falling in the sand several feet from him. He tried to stand, but his sense of balance was gone. He landed on his face this time.

He heard Borlam scuttle up to him and begin kicking him in the ribs. That was before Fargan strode up to them both.

Veil rolled over on his back just in time to see Fargan pick Borlam up by his throat.

"What the – Fargan – I'm with you, right? I helped you! You wouldn't have known about any of this without me! Lemme go!"

Fargan spoke so icily, so coldly and dripping of hatred that Veil realized that it was probably how he had talked to Delah before eating him. "That was your idea. And while it did help me significantly, a traitor for either side is still just a traitor. And if that weren't bad enough, when he's down, you run up and start kicking him. That's just low. And I can tell you something about being betrayed by those I was trying to help. Just like you're doing now."

Fargan's forepaw jiggled the hapless Borlam vigorously. The mouse had time for one scream of despair before his neck snapped, grotesquely similar to the sound of dry kindling breaking.

Still utterly dazed, Veil didn't even fight the wolf as he was lifted by the collar of his cloak. He had time to look into the eyes of the wolf, which surprised him most: Fargan's eyes were full of sorrowful remorse.

"You're even harder than your father was, Veil, and he was nails."

Veil said nothing.

"I – I'm sorry I have to do this Veil. I wish that you and I could have been allies, instead of enemies. I'm sorry for everything." Angry tears slowly rolled down his face "Why do you help them? They fear you, they will never really accept you back, what makes you on their side?"

"What happened to you back at Northmount, Fargan?"

"You know that! I was betrayed, betrayed by those whom I helped! They are beyond all salvation, they're not like you or I, we don't strike at those who love us and help us!"

"I did. I tried to kill someone who was really trying to raise me right. I didn't even have the courage to kill him personally. So what does that make me, as far as you're concerned with salvation? Because I've learned that even I am not beyond becoming the better beast I always wanted to be. We're not alike, Fargan. We never were."

Fargan's eyes returned to the emotionless state. Veil saw that he no longer mattered to Fargan. He was just another casualty of whatever idea of justice Fargan held. "No. I suppose we aren't."

The saber rose in his paws. Veil closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable.

When he heard a grunt of pain from the wolf.

His eyes shot open. An arrow had landed in the upper forepaw of Fargan's sword paw. Fargan let Veil go, and the still-dazed ferret slid back into the shallows of the Southern Seas.

With bow in hand, Myst stormed down the hill like a madbeast. Another arrow was already notched. She let it go while still running, nicking Fargan's right footpaw this time.

Fargan saw that there was no way he could outlast this demon of a ferret, not at long range. There was always the last resort…

And so the wolf sheathed his sabers, and bounded on all fours to the east, up the canyons where Veil had battled Arguss. He was gone.

Looking up, Veil saw all of this, and in his woozy state, realized he had had it all wrong.

_Fates and Seasons, she's fierce. She's fierce when I'm in danger._

_I love her. I still love her. After all of this, I still do. It didn't change anything._

Veil realized this, smiled, and then let his head fall back into the water with a small splash.


	19. It's Over, Love

Veil woke to find himself on the beach in a thick blanket. His recollection of the events before blacking out returned, and he rose.

All were gathered around a small area on the beach. Veil, still groggy, stumbled over.

Dismay reached him as he realized what was happening. Coll was dying.

The wound Fargan had laid across the vole's back was horrific to look at. The dark flow of blood was streaming across the sand even as Veil watched.

Coll turned to look at him, pale as a sheet. As he did, all those present did so as well.

_I did this to him,_ Veil thought bitterly.

With a soft voice characteristic of one who has lost blood, Coll spoke. "I think I knew it would end like this when you started talking about rebellion, Veil. Now I'm dying for it."

"I'm so sorry, Coll. I should have been able to save you, I – "

But Coll was smiling. "My da always said that a beast who won't die for something is not fit to live. I think that's all I needed in the end. Something I could die for. Thank you."

With the last bit of strength he had, Coll shouted out, "You had all better have a really big feast now that we've won!"

And he was gone. But all those present were smiling.

Myst came up to him. "I guess we have to, then. Shall we say, three nights from tonight?"

"As long as there's your skilly 'n' duff served."

"As my lord wishes. In fact, I think I'll cook a whole pan just for you. I'll even pu frsh meadowcream on top, maybe some cherries, and would you like it with freshly baked oatbread as well?"

"Stop, stop, I haven't eaten since yesterday! Could I just have a little something first?"

"Yes, I'm starving too. I think I left some cheese and fruit in the house, sound good to you?"

"Lead the way, Provider of the Sacred Vittles.":

They walked up to the hut, paw in paw. Once inside, Veil headed for the wash basin.

"What's wrong?" asked Myst.

"Oh, just the usual cuts and scrapes. You can start without me."

"Wouldn't do it if I were you, there won't be any by the time you're back," she teased.

"Oooh, greedyguts, eh? Well, I'm going to eat twice as much, just to show you!"

"Not nearly half as much as what I'll eat, I tell you!"

"Hah! You jest. I'm going to give you a head-start while I clean myself up, because I know I'll eat more!"

"You're on!" Myst cried, and she was gone. Veil heard the sounds of outrageous amounts of food being consumed.

_The Long Patrol would love her,_ he reflected. _A lady who eats as much as they do._ He chuckled to himself. It was over, it was all over, he could let it end now - .

He heard a thud from the other room, accompanied by a series of frantic wimperings.

Bolting from the wash basin, he raced into the meager dining room to find his beloved on the floor. With a shock of horror, he knelt beside her.

Already the color had fled from her face. Her jaws were clamped together, her eyes glazed over. He felt for her heartbeat. It was racing against her ribs, pounding at a lethally quick rate.

Quick as a flash, he rose, scanning the table He saw two apple cores and a wedge of cheese with significantly large bites taken out of it. He brought a bit to his nose, smelling it tentatively.

The cheese fell from his grasp as chills raced up his spine, gripping him in throes of a terror unlike any felt before. Gasps of horror seized him as he realized what it was.

He'd recognize that smell anywhere. Sickly-sweet, like overripe fruit, with a tinge of a very bitter aroma about it. There was no mistaking that smell.

And he knew that smell very well; he could never forget it. For he had smelled it only once before, but it was a critical moment. It was the smell of the plant he had picked that day in Mossflower. It was the plant that he had concealed under his bunk. It was the plant he had placed in the jug of drinking water in Friar Bunfold's kitchens.

Wolfbane!


	20. A Lesson in Vengeance

Faster.

Veil ran, his heart in his throat. Wolfbane. The hooded plant that kills.

Go faster, damn you!

Induced symptoms. Muscle cramps. Violent stomach churning. Paralysis. Blindness, even.

Death.

The word fell in his mind like lead into dust. With a morose chuckle, he reflected on the irony of it all. He had been cast out because of wolfbane in the first place, and now it seemed it had returned to destroy him again.

Wolfbane. There is no antidote. There is no counterpoison. The only hope was to induce vomiting.

It had worked when he poisoned Myrtle, after all. Crushed mustard seed and warm water. Cause her to regurgitate the poison, but only if she hadn't already ingested enough to be fatal.

Which meant speed was of the essence.

The major herbs were located outside of the village, at the base of a hillock bordering the deserts. Having run full-out to this hill, Veil fell beside them, frantically searching for what he needed. A mustard shoot. Small, whitish leaves, miniscule seeds near the top of the stem.

He saw them, clear as could be. About a good handful. He grabbed them all, bounding up on his feet again, back for the hut.

He practically knocked in the door to get in. He had the warm water already, the wash basin would work. Just to crush the seed.

He looked frantically around for the mortar and pestle. There was none to be found in the immediate area, and Veil didn't have the time to look for one. Every second could possibly the instant that the wolfbane entered Myst's bloodstream, each second after that bringing it closer to her heart. When that happened, she was as good as dead.

No choice, then. He whipped out Perdition from his backsling, feverishly using the axe handle to bash the seeds on the tabletop. It took maybe five seconds. Which was five seconds less for Myst. She might only have another five. Or three. Or none.

He brushed the crushed mustard into his paw, and practically flung it into the lukewarm basin of water. Stirring the acrid mixture with his axe, he ran into the next room, basin in hand.

He knelt down beside Mystfur, who was by now as white as a sheet. Her jaws with already clenched together in the _rigor mortis_ common with poisons, her eyes fully glazed over.

Straining against the involuntary contractions of her jaws, Veil pried open Myst's muzzle, pouring the disgustingly sour mixture into her mouth, stroking the sides of her throat to induce swallowing.

She had swallowed it all. In the blink of an eye, Veil had her slung over his back, feeling with relief that her stomach was already churning.

Once more, he practically kicked down the door, this time getting her outside. By now a small crowd of curious Dunefolk had gathered around the hut. He propped her on her knees, giving her the ability to expectorate at her feet rather than all over herself.

With a small sob, the first wave came, and Veil was relieved to see several chunks of what looked like apples in the stream of vomit. The poisoned cheese came in the next bout of induced sickness.

And then it was over. Myst, utterly spent, began to fall forward with a small sigh. Veil caught her, and picked her up again, dragging her inside to the bed. Her laid her down on it to inspect her.

The lethal symptoms were obviously over: Myst was no longer with the muscular contortions or paralysis as before. But she was still ghostly-white, her terrified eyes still rimmed with hot tears of fear and sickness. She was not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot.

Veil filled the largest pitcher in the hut with water from the rain barrel outside. The last chance she had was to consume a huge amount of fluids until…until…

Veil admitted to himself he had no idea how long this was supposed to take. His level of healing was all he had ever needed to heal himself, and he was as hard as nails, truth be told.

But the enormity of healing one who was not nearly as tough as he hit him just then. He gave a wearied sob, and resolved that he would just have to have her consume as much water as she could until she got better.

If she got better.

Three pitchers later and no sign of improvement. Veil was afraid of giving her any more, lest she just throw up again, which would only dehydrate her. He let her be.

When her eyes cleared of the rheumy tears. Those two brilliant emeralds blinked, and looked at him straight in the eye.

She looked at him, smiled, and fell backwards into a deep sleep. But it was enough. She would be fine. Nothing permanent at all. Veil had no idea how he knew this, but he did.

He wandered into the main room, and collapsed on the table, the same table that had once borne the poisonous food that his love had gone through hell to overcome.

When he noticed it. A bark scroll wedged under one of the plates.

He pulled it out, breaking the seal with his sixth claw, and unrolled it.

_Dearest Veil Sixclaw,_

_Since you are reading this, I seem to have succeeded in not killing you. Don't think you and I are finished yet, and I must congratulate you on not falling for this particular trick._

_What you said on the beach was very noble. Stupid, but noble. You and I really are different, which boils down to one thing: I thought that as a vermin who knows what being forced to leave home is like, you were worthy of my admiration. I was wrong. You are still every bit a whelp, not even worthy of bearing the name Sixclaw. That said, I must address my point of mission._

_In the space of two seasons, you have managed to take everything from me: my loyal assassins, my pact with the Dunefolk, my very livelihood. I applauded you from the beginning, thinking you would eventually wake up and realize your alliance with these weaklings was worthless. I was wrong. You are every bit as ignorant and foolish as they are, and not worthy of my respect any longer._

_Let me enlighten you as to what is going to happen from now on. I am quite capable of moving around without being noticed, as testified by the fact that I was able to place the wolfbane and this note without any real haste. Any remnants of your Resistance who try to seek me out will meet their deaths, no matter how many you send. You can tell them I am still alive, which they probably know by now anyway, but the instant they become involved is the day they all die. My fight is strictly with you._

_I am going to do exactly what you have managed to do to me: take everything from you. I will haunt you until the end of days. You will look over your shoulder from now on to see if I am there. I will be in every corner of your mind, every minute a waking nightmare as you wonder if I am near, and what I will take next. Eventually, you will wish for an end to it all, and I will not grant it to you. You will be lost to despair forever, and when your only solace becomes suicide, you will regret the day you scorned me._

_Fargan_

With paws shaking with rage, Veil shredded the parchment, snarling and growling, fangs clenched in the most sincere desire for revenge he had yet experienced. He fell on his knees, and began screaming the ultimate profanities at the seasons, the fates, and most of all at Fargan.

When he was done, he rose, walking outside to sit in the sand. The crowd had dispersed, and he was alone for a time.

He had not had any real time to rest, except for his feverish fainting spell on the beach, and the true amount of his weariness hit him. The greatest sense of fatigue and world-weariness washed over him, and his head slumped backwards against the door frame, too tired to sleep, even.

A small, luminous dot in the twilight caught his attention. It seemed to grow in size, as though it were growing closer.

Veil realized just in time what it was, and jerked his whole body forward as the flaming arrow struck the hut on one of the walls.

Within seconds the straw hut was ablaze. Smoke clouded Veil's vision as he attempted to approach the flaming door. It was no use.

The rain barrel was still outside. Running over to it, Veil whipped off his threadbare cloak, dousing it in the rainwater before putting it back on. The cold water seemed to invigorate him back into wakefulness as he ran inside.

The ever-climbing flames hissed as they hit his dripping-wet cloak. Veil knocked over the table in his haste to reach the bedroom.

With the frantic strength of a madbeast, Veil scooped Myst up and under the wet cloak. She gasped, stirred, and passed out again. He turned to rush them both out of the house.

Only to be faced by another column of fire. It had spread much faster than he had thought. Already the entire other room in the shack was ablaze, blocking the way to the door. It had ignited the wood paneling along the entire interior of the hut, and already traces of red-hot embers were crawling around the edges of the bedroom.

He started as he realized that the water on his cloak was gone, and was beginning to smoke.

Veil froze momentarily before sweeping Perdition up from the ground beside the bed where he had left it. He quickly ripped off the backsling it was still in.

With one huge swing, Veil brought the blade down on the only wall of the room not on fire.

The gash that the massive axe made was not very large; however, the entire wall was knocked down in the process.

Veil leapt from the inferno, still with Myst under his cloak. By now it was on fire. He dropped Myst, and fell about in the sand until the fire on the cloak was extinguished. The damage to the cloak was minor, and it seemed that it would live to be worn again.

Myst was still alive, and seemingly free of the poison. He let her lie there, realizing that rest was all she needed now.

The charred hut finally gave in. With a groan that only burning timbers emit, the hut seemed to fall in on itself, kicking a huge cloud of dust, embers and ash into the air.

As the cloud settled, the fires died down, casting sorrowful shadows across the beach. The entire land of Middledune was briefly lit up by the remnants of what had been home for Veil. He let his eyes mournfully follow the trail of flickering light along the beaches and up the canyons.

Standing on top of a rocky mount of the reddish canyonlands was the silhouette of a wolf.

Swathed in silk, the form of Fargan the Butcher was clear against the dancing light from the fire. The stark black vision of the two sabers across his back seemed to leer out at Veil, even with the wolf being far off in the distance.

And even with Fargan's distance being so great, Veil could tell that the wolf was laughing.

And Veil laughed right back.

He laughed because he saw how Fargan's plan was doomed to failure. The whole point of this exercise was to make him afraid.

And Veil was not afraid. Not at all. All he felt was hatred for Fargan. And he had much hatred to supply. Almost eighteen seasons worth.

He stood and laughed, amidst the burning remnants of the hut, wearing a still-charred cloak fluttering raggedly in the wind, the massive axe still in his left paw, all six claws clutching it to help stem the rage that coursed through his body, breathing new life into him as it did.

_I won't be rid of him until I kill him,_ he thought.

_Let the hunt begin._


	21. Insanity

Percy the hare had always given unlimited respect to Veil, but this respect had given way to outright fear.

From a safe distance, Percy watched the ferret, who was sitting on the sands leading to the water.

His very appearance was startling. His fur was singed in places, his already-battered cloak now frayed and burned all over. Lack of sleep and low attention to eating or drinking had given his fur a grayish, unhealthy look to it. His crisp blue eyes were rimmed with red, and they constantly flickered back and forth at all before them, as though constantly searching for a target.

Mystfur had been set up in Percy's hut, a spare mat offering a location of rest for the still-comatose ferret. Veil had attended to her for two days straight, and though his manner was feverish and relentless, and viewer could tell his mind was truly occupied with something else.

Vengeance was on the mind of Veil, vengeance above all else. The space in his mind that occupied itself with emotion was devoted only to hate. Visions of multiple deaths of Fargan appeared before him.

He had the wolf by the throat in the depths of the sea. He was holding him under the water, his paws clamped down, keeping Fargan in his watery grave. The wolf was frantically scrabbling at him, bubbles and foam obscuring Veil's view of his face, but Veil kept him down, until the wolf flailed one last time and stiffened, still twitching until he was still…

Fargan was tied to the ground before him, begging for mercy, but Veil wasn't listening. In the flickering firelight, Veil raised a cask of lantern oil, breaking it over Fargan's head, anointing him in the sweet-smelling fuel. Taking a firebrand from his pocket, he lit it from the fire, and brought it closer to Fargan, who now realized what was happening and was sobbing, beseeching Veil for forgiveness. None was given. Veil touched Fargan's flank with the lit branch, and with a scream, Fargan was ablaze. With never-ending shrieks, Fargan's sleek gray fur gave way to charred, blackened skin. After a blissfully long time, the ash-covered skeleton collapsed against the ground, a sickly real remnant of the loathsome body that had once surrounded it…

These and so many others passed before him, as he smiled to himself. He would make one of these a reality.

He rose, like a demon from the depths of Hell, and walked towards the hut. Myst would need feeding.

When he saw him.

Fargan was standing there, right in front of him, no more than twenty paces from him.

Veil grinned, his teeth set together in the smile of a pikefish. With maddeningly fast movement, he was up and running, the massive axe once more in hand.

Fargan was still there, grinning all the while. Veil was no more than ten paces from him. He reared back his enormous axeblade, waiting until he was no more than five paces to strike…

Only to see the hallucination of the wolf disintegrate into the thin air of his mind.

With a shriek of disappointment, Veil's massive slice went into the ground, the overextending of his balance causing him to trip and fall into a patch of blackberries.

He went down hard. The overripe fruits spattered across his face, the juice obscuring his vision. A rock caught his lip; Veil tasted blood as it did.

He lay there for a moment, pain greeting him in a sensation not at all unfamiliar.

_I will not be rid of these visions_, he thought, _until Fargan is dead._

With this realization in mind, he rose, dragging himself painfully over to the water's edge to see the damage his fall had done. He sank to his knees, and brought his face over the surface.

What he saw stopped him cold as the grave.

The blackberries had created a purplish hue on his face, almost like war paint, streaking his visage like a hordebeast's markings. The blood from where he had struck the rock was staining his teeth crimson like a warlord's dyes.

The transformation was complete. What looked back at Veil from the surface of the water was the spitting image of Swartt Sixclaw.

What little remained of Veil's sanity dissolved in an instant. Fire was in his eyes, the inferno that drives warmongers onward and always will.

Veil rose, a new creature entirely. Fargan was out there, and to avenge himself and his love, he would have to die – horrifically.

Giggling like a Dibbun, Veil ran for the northern border. His grip on the axe tightened with the thought of Fargan's impending doom.

Percy saw all this, and trembled for fear of the reckoning to come.


	22. HearttoHeart

This was the most fun to write. Please review this, I consider it to be the most critique-worthy thing here. It's my first attempt at serious emotional work.

-----------------

He was clear of the northern border. Here began the wastelands, the grayish, sooty soil that resembled the ashes of all the forgotten souls who had wandered out here, only to perish. Here was the rolling, tired tumbleweed that scrabbled like a beggar across the plain. Twisted, undulating bushes rose, their very shape like those of slaves enduring a flogging.

Here it was that Veil was hunting the wolf.

The pawprints that he had found matched the wolf's, alright: Massive, yet sleek and powerful. How like the beast whose paws these belonged to.

For the last two days Veil had been following these to a religious level, eating on the run and pausing only to slip into a doze lasting an hour at most.

Fatigue, however, didn't take its effect. Veil was driven by revenge alone.

_Revenge_, he thought, _is so underrated these days._

_Is it?_ said the voice of Swartt, returning again.

Veil knew that once again this was not the debate of both sides of his brain. Swartt was there, inside him, and it comforted Veil to have another as sly and cruel with him for this task.

_Don't get your hopes up, boy_, said Swartt. _I'm not helping you on this one._

_Why?_ thought Veil.

_When you started this, I saw you were motivated by the emotions you've learned: sympathy, love, even justice. All the things I could never experience. You taught woodlanders to use their own bravery, their own courage, and fight off an oppressor. You did well. Worthy of being recorded at your Abbey. You honored what you've learned since you killed me._

_So what? _thought Veil. _I'm still not finished. Fargan is alive, and Myst could well be dead. How is that justice? How is it that the good have less chance of life than the evil?_

_Life and death is just the beginning, son. It's what comes afterward that means real justice._

"Tripe!" said Veil, now speaking out loud. "None of this is true justice!"

_We are all judged in our time, Veil. No greater wisdom is applied than that of the Ages when we pass on. That is where good an evil are distinguished._

"So this isn't good?" cried Veil. "Is ridding the world of Fargan not good?"

_Not under these circumstances. Had you taken his life while defending another or yourself, yes, but what you seek is vengeance, not justice._

Veil was silent; he knew this to be true.

_There is more at stake than your vendetta, Veil. What is important is the salvation of your soul. Could you honestly say you expect to experience the peace of Dark Forest with murder on your conscience? We all have to let vengeance go at some point._

"This is the most self-righteous bit of scum I've ever heard. You yourself pusued vengeance against Sunflash to no end."

_And look where it got me. I'm in hell, son. My only hope for salvation is to stop you from doing the same._

"A-ha!" cried Veil triumphantly. "I knew you had some ulterior motive. You're still no father to me, you just need me! You don't believe a word of this no-revenge nonsense, do you? You, whose very life was all about revenge!"

Silence followed. After some time, it was punctuated by a strange, ghostlike sound, like a whisper or a cough.

Or a sob.

Swartt was crying, if he could cry.

_She was beautiful, you know._

"What?" said Veil, genuinely incredulous.

_Your mother. Bluefen. _My _Bluefen._

Veil stopped walking then.

_You have her eyes, you know. Blue like cornflower. That must have been her namesake._

Veil felt a lump in his throat as he heard more of his mother, than one remnant of good in his life he had never known.

_She always looked at me with this one look on her face. The one that sort of said that no matter how awful a beast I was to her, she would never let it bring her down. All the villains I had around me, and she was always as gentle as could be to everyone. That's courage._

_She used to wear mint essence a lot. Not so much that you couldn't avoid smelling it; it was always faint, always demure and subtle. But it was still wonderful. I mean, I'd be in a tent, brooding over a plan to catch the badger, and then that scent would hit me. It was like being in a forest after a rainfall, it was so fresh. And she was there. And that was the only time, ever, that even for an instant I forgot about the badger. That was the only time I felt I could trust somebody with my life. That was the time that I found something other than revenge._

The voice paused.

_And I ignored it. I kept on with my plans for avenging myself, and it killed her. And in time's great course, it killed me. And every moment I have left, I just wish I could have – oh, seasons help me – I wish I had let her know how deeply she touched me._

Silence again, broken only by Swartt's sobs. When he began again, he was screaming.

_Don't you get it? I had everything! I had a family, a beautiful wife and a baby boy, my own son! I had a secure way of living! All I had to do was forget that damned badger for a while and I would have seen how lucky I was with what I had! We could have been so happy, just the three of us. Because the most admirable beasts that have lived are not warriors or warlords or heroes. The truly fortunate are just the normal ones who can find happiness in simple things. I had love, and I threw it away for vengeance! I'm dead, and I'm in hell! And I can't find her, now that I know how much I cared! Oh, Veil, and I'm so alone…_

The most pathetic sounds of the lost soul's sniffling and uncontrolled sobbing followed.

The foremost thought in Veil's mind was no longer that of revenge. He merely wished that, if it were possible, he could embrace his father, comfort this lonely specter.

And that somehow was enough. The wish in his soul to console the dead ferret somehow did. And for a second, it was as if the two were locked in a bear hug of father and son. Years of neglected parenthood were made up for as the two were healed.

And then it was over.

Tears were freely flowing from Veil's eyes. His desire to kill the wolf faded. The need to stop him remained.

His sanity returned, Veil kept walking, sure that when he reached the wolf, he would act to make he and his father proud.

---------------------

"Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one." – Jane Howard


	23. The Hillock

TK – Good God, it seems like years. I apologize for the giant lapse in the story. Anyhow, here we go…

It happened at the top of the next ridge on the morning of the second day.

Veil was by now utterly exhausted. Deep in his mind, he knew he could have covered this distance in a quarter of the time, but his resolve was weakening. He had to stop.

When he saw him.

Less than eight fathoms off stood the gargantuan figure of Fargan, his silk robes fluttering in the wind, the black and gold sharply clashing with the grayness of the sky and the wasteland.

Veil stood, every inch of him trying to resist the urge to unsheathe the massive axe on his back and slaying the wolf. He called out to him

"Fargan, I would talk with you!"

There was no response. The wolf could not have looked more stoic.

"Fargan, all I want is to talk! Don't make me fight you again!"

Nothing. Not even a flicker of movement.

It was then that Veil noticed that the two sabers across Fargan's back were nowhere to be seen. And he realized in a flash what was going on.

He ran up to the wolf, punching the figure square in the chest, and watched with horror as the straw figure disintegrated in a slew of yellowy pulp.

A dummy. The beast had left a dummy. He had actually dressed a scarecrow in his clothes and…left?

A small white piece of paper caught Veil's eyes, tied to the dummy, fluttering in the wind like a dead bird's feathers.

He knew what the gist would be, but he picked it up anyway.

His paws shook visibly as he read the lone scrawled message.

_I wonder if ferret tastes as good as squirrel?_

Veil's paws seemed to give way from under him. His breath began to ease out of him in panicky gasps.

Fargan was headed back for Middledune. In all likelihood he was there already.

And Myst was dead.

But then he realized the inevitable. Myst couldn't be dead.

Fargan had left that note. He _wanted_ Veil to head back to Middledune. He _wanted_ him to see Myst alive

He _wanted_ to let Veil watch her die.

It had taken him two days to get here. If he moved fast, Veil could be there by dusk.

He shoved the axe further back along his shoulder, dust flying behind him as he turned around, running in the direction he came.

He'd lost Myst once, and he'd gone berserk. To lose her again would cause him to utterly lose himself.

As he ran, Veil realized something he hadn't really pondered before.

_She's the best thing that's happened to me._

From start to finish, from Redwall to Southsward to Middledune, the only real joy came from her.

_If I survive this, I'll tell her._

He was getting a stitch. He ignored it and kept running.


End file.
